
Library of Congress^ 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



Chap. 



£S.i2uLi_ 



Shelf .«_ 



TEIFOLIUM. 



BY 



/ 

HENRY W. CARSTENS 



INTER FOLIA FBUCTIS 



BOSTON AND CAMBRIDGE : 
JAMES MUNROE AND COMPANY 

MDCCCLV. 



■^ ' 



b\ 



-f-^:^<^ 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by 

JAMES MUNROE AND COMPANY. 

In tlie Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



10. ra. 



TUCRSTOa AND TORRT, PRISTKKS- 



TO 

MRS. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY 
STMs 3Soolt 

IS MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY 

THE AUTHOR 



TO THE AMERICAN READER, 



In case you might think it strange that an unknown 
author should have asked permission from your worthiest 
and most renowned Poetess, to dedicate to her his first 
literary production in this country, — allow me to state 
thus much. 

I read once a part of the first story my book contains, 
to a small circle, in the presence of some of Mrs. Sig- 
ourney's personal friends. They were very much pleased 
with it, and one of them remarked, " How much would 
Mrs. Sigourney like to read this story ; she herself has 
written so beautifully about the flowers." Since then I 
have read what this lady alluded to, and by a feeble 
expression of my high esteem for the authoress of so 
beautiful poems, I wished to add my humble share to the 
tribute of admiration which a whole nation pays Mrs. 
Sigourney so justly and willingly. 

Boston, January 8^ 1855. 



CONTENTS. 

JTfrst 3itKt—mm tje ?K?ootr» talft about 

The Poppy 2j 

The Pine-tree .24 

The Forest-brook 40 

The Stone . . . , ' 52 

The Poet 78 

Secontr ieaf— ©rfflfnal ®omposftion». 

Religion or Love, an Allegory 85 

A Parable ..... 91 

The four Seasons in Man's Life 9g 

Germany in the Spring of 1848. A Vision . . . HO 

An Author's Fate 115 

A Voyage across the Atlantic ..... 129 

A Visit at the President's House 159 

^tiixXi 3Leaf. 

A Lecture delivered in Boston, Sept. 27, 1854 . , 171 



FIRST LEAF. 

WHAT THE WOODS TALK ABOUT, 

By 
GUSTAV ZU PUTIITZ. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN 
BY 

HENRY W. CARSTENS. 



THE roppY. 



We are mistaken when we believe that the 
Flowers cannot do anything except bud, blossom, 
shed their odor, and wither; for this opinion, how- 
ever many supporters it may have, has only been 
forced upon us by our own selfishness, which fain 
would make us believe that everything ill nature 
is existing only for our sake, and that the Flow- 
ers, since we can only perceive their external life, 
have not at all an internal one. But, as I said, it 
is not so, and just as every Flower has its own 
character, as one is modest, the other proud and 
vain, this one gay and showy, that one obscure 
and insignificant, or as they otherwise may ex- 
hibit themselves in colors and habits, thus also has 
each one its own wishes, endeavors, joys, sorrows, 
and loves ; but all of them have a preponderating 
patriotism, that is, not only an attachment for the 
country, but even for the spot in which they have 



12 THE POPPY. 

grown up, so that they cannot exist anywhere 
else : a feeling which people think they have often 
found to be missing in men in these latter times. 
But the Flowers have also a means of communica- 
tion, and if any one, perchance, should understand 
their language, into his ear they might whisper 
many a poem, many a wonderful tale. During 
many a night (for this especially is their time for 
communication, as we soon shall see) he would 
like to listen to them on the flowery field, and all 
the checkered images which would be exhibited 
before him, probably would appear to him like a 
beautiful poetical dream. 

The narrator of this present wonderful story 
also was once, during a fragrant moonlit night, 
lying on the blooming tapestry of the woods, and 
was listening or dreaming, — which many a one 
sooner will believe of him ; there he heard all at 
once a thousand soft voices rise from out the 
Flowers. It is likely that a friendly Elf, to whom 
he once unconsciously had rendered a service 
somehow or other, had lent him his faculty of 
hearing for the night. In a melancholy strain the 
Reed-grass whispered a long lyric poem into the 
ear of its neighbor, and the neighbor was listening 
attentively. The Corn-poppy (Klatschrose) was 
prattling among it, she who is the chronique scan- 



THE POPPV. 13 

daleuse among the Flowers, and represents the 
literature of Mrs. Grundy. Not far from thence 
red Moss-blossoms were tittering together, and cer- 
tainly had just then told each other something 
very funny. The Bell-flower, it is true, was silent, 
but she continually confirmed the speeches of her 
neighbors by nodding her head to the right and 
to the left. It was quite different with the Trem- 
bling-grass, for it constantly shook its head, and 
would not believe anything of all that it heard 
round about it. Whether they had espied the 
listener, and wished, according to an old adage, to 
punish him for his intrusion ; whether it be, on the 
whole, a favorite topic with the Flowers, in fine, 
this time their conversation generally turned upon 
the injustice and the unkind behavior which men 
were guilty of in regard to them. 

" Dear me," cried a host of Thyme-blossoms in 
a plaintive manner, "there again the coarse foot of 
a man has crushed our dearest sisters." 

" Yes, they do not heed us at all," said a Pink- 
catchfly which was very anxious to be noticed, and 
raised herself, therefore, very high on her slender 
stem, " however tenderly we may attach ourselves 
and cling to them. I would not complain, if they 
destroyed us, because we were noxious to them like 
the Hemlock I But nothing is harder to bear than 



14 THE POPPY. 

their slighting us so. Really, they even do not 
think it worth while to turn their foot aside on 
our account." 

" Not so," whispered soothingly a Forget-me- 
not ; " to conclude from your speeches, one would 
think men to be very unjust towards us. And yet 
I can disprove your reproaches. Are we not to 
them the most favorite ornament on festive occa- 
sions ? and do they not always choose us as mes- 
sengers for their most holy feelings — for love? " 

" Those times are past, long ago," said the 
Sorrel, quite out of humor. " Do not men, puffed 
up in their pride, deem themselves justified to 
meddle with the Creator's affairs,. — yes, even to 
improve upon his works, by trying to imitate us in 
paltry, painted paper things, — yea, trying to re- 
produce us in greater beauty ? And with what 
do they adorn themselves now, — with us, or with 
those despicable imitations ? For messengers of 
love they also take us, only because they have 
nothing better ; besides, this language of Flowers 
is long since out of fashion — they call it senti- 
mentality, and ridicule it." 

" I would let all these things pass," began the 

Lily; "how can men respect our feelings, if they 

do not know them ? But they ought not to deny 

•t 
them where they obviously encounter them. Only 



THE POPPY. 15 

think of this! When the night has passed away, 
and we look around us in the morning twilight, 
then always one or the other of our playmates is 
missing, who either bowed already its head in the 
evening twilight, or whom a fierce night wind 
stripped of its leaves. Then we mourn for them, 
and tears stand in our eyes. Men see that ; but, 
without endeavoring to understand it, they deny 
that these drops are tokens of our feelings and of 
our grief; and they say that is the dew which the 
morning fog has poured out upon us." 

This proof of men's injustice probably had been 
so conclusive, that none of them had anything to 
reply or to add in that moment. Then there was 
forming not far from me a group around a shining 
high-grown Poppy. For a long time already I had 
observed that her neighbors had laid their heads 
together, and had in no way participated in that 
dispute which w^as so very little flattering to me. 
Now, when this pause ensued, the Cowslip, w^hilst 
ringing her little bells, exclaimed, " Hush, hush, 
sisters, the Poppy will tell us something!" " The 
Poppy will tell a story," they cried — " hush, 
hush!" And everybody listened; for even the 
Reed -grass had just now finished its long poem. 

The Poppy raised herself on her slender stem, 
looked around, and then bowed several times 



o-O THE POPPV. 

hither and thither. I had expected she tvould 
allow herself to be entreated for a long time, 
would pretend to be hoarse, and would at least 
make a preamble of many excuses ; but at that 
time, I reckon, this was not yet customary among 
the Flowers, for the Poppy began to relate forth- 
with : " You will listen to me ? Well, then, I will 
tell you, how, according to old venerable traditions 
which have been handed down in my race from 
one generation to another, we Poppies owe our 
existence to a quite peculiar incident; for you 
certainly must not believe that, at the creation of 
the world, we Flowers were all at the same time 
strewn out over the earth. Oh no, there was one 
coming after the other, and things were then about 
so as they now go on in the Spring." 

"How then do things go on in the Spring?" 
thus the Corn-poppy hastily interrupted her. 

" You may beforehand ask the Daisy about that, 
for it is always very early present ; but then you 
must not interrupt me any more in my story." 

The Daisy, which generally was very little no- 
ticed, and by many even was set down as some- 
what simple, whilst its cousin, the Amaranth, on 
account of its having received a slightly better 
education, was esteemed a little higher, was at the 
same time glad and embarrassed at being allowed, 



THE POPPY. 17 

for once, to say a word, and a tinge of red was 
spreading over its little white leaves, as you cer- 
tainly have more than once observed on this little 
Flower. Then it raised gratefully its head to its 
high patron, and began to speak, without further 
waiting for any question. 

" What harm we have done the Winter, that he 
cannot endure us poor Flowers, I cannot tell you, 
and opinions differ widely about this. So much 
only is certain, that he does not like us, and that 
he does not rest before he has driven us altogether 
from the earth. His dominion, however, does not 
last for ever, and after him comes our best friend, 
the Spring. He looks quite ruefully round about, 
when he no more sees a single one of all the gay 
children which he, at parting, had recommended 
so earnestly to the Summer, and he must envelop 
his hair in long gray veils, because he has not yet 
a single flower or leaf, with which to wind himself 
a wreath. Then he softly passes his kind, warm 
hand over the earth ; he calls, and he beckons to 
his darlings, none of whom yet dares to stretch 
forth its head, for they are yet too much frightened; 
so much the rough Winter has intimidated them. 
Surely, this fear is not without foundation, for 
there are instances, in which the Winter, after he 
had gone far away, has returned, and has struck 



18 THE POPPY. 

the Flowers on their head. Some Flowers, however, 
that have a very amiable disposition, do not wish 
to let the Spring wait so long, and quickly they 
come forth. 

" So does the good Violet. But when it looks 
around, and the earth appears so very dreary yet, 
and of all the sisters there are so few awake, then 
it is afraid, and shyly it hides again its little head 
under the green leaves. Men call that modesty, 
but it is rather fear. And then there is awakened 
in the Violet that intense longing for its compan- 
ions, which it exhales in its charming odor. Poor 
Violet! This longing remains unappeased, and 
when the others have come, its time is fulfilled 
long ago. But because it is always yet yearning 
for the other Flowers, it sometimes even comes 
forth in Autumn for a few days, and its longings is 
then satisfied. That is, however, the reason why 
it then no more smells so sweet as during its first 
bloom." 

" Now you see," thus the Poppy took again up 
her narrative, " in this way things are going on in 
Spring, and about thus it happened to be at the 
creation. One Flower came after the other. At 
that time, however, into which my tales reach, the 
most of us were already assembled, and it was 
quite beautiful on the earth, for joy and concord 



THE POPPY. 19 

were reigning everywhere. Beast and man lived 
peaceably together, and there was nothing but 
mirth from morning until night. One being only, 
the single one in the wide, wide creation, did not 
share this universal happiness, and was wandering, 
sad, on the young earth : it was the Night. You 
will ask why she was sad. Now look ; she was 
lonely in this world, where every other being had a 
companion ; and is there any happiness, if we 
cannot share it? 

" Moreover, Night was feeling more and more 
that she was the only being whom others did not 
like to approach in love. For, however voluntarily 
she kindled her little lamps, she had to conceal 
from men and beasts the beauties of the earth, and 
that estranged them all from her. Not that they 
complained about it to her face ; but in that joy 
with which the morning sun was greeted, it was 
plainly enough expressed how little they were at- 
tached to the Night. This, of course, made her 
sad, for she was good and tender-hearted, and she 
wrapped her head in her thickest veil in order to 
weep over her bitter grief. This now quite af- 
fected us compassionate Flowers, and when every- 
thing turned away from her, we tried to give her 
some pleasure, as much as our faculties would 
nermit, though there might be very little prospect 



20 THE POPPY. 

of entirely assuaging her grief. We had, however, 
nothing to offer but colors and odors, and Night 
had never taken much interest in colors. Thus we 
spared for her our most fragrant od^ors ; yea, some, 
for instance the Sweet-rocket, did not smell at all 
during the daytime, in order to offer all its sweet 
odors to the Night, and this habit, as it is^ well 
known, it has preserved ever since. But all this 
could not comfort the sorrowful one, and in her 
grief she threw herself down before the throne of 
the Creator. 

" ' Almighty Father,' thus she commenced, ' Thou 
seest how everything in thy creation is happy ; I 
alone wander over the earth cheerless, lonely, and 
without being loved, and 1 have no being to whom 
I might attach myself in my sorrow. The Day 
flees from me, however longingly I hasten after 
him, and like him every created being turns away 
from me. Therefore, Almighty Father! take pity 
on me, and give me a companion.' 

" Then the Creator smiled in compassion, granted 
the prayer of Night, created Sleep, and gave him 
to her for a companion. That the Creator formed 
him whilst smiling, do you «ot recognize this by 
the circumstance, that everybody loves him, that 
he dispenses nothing but bliss, nothing but happi- 
ness and comfort ? Night clasped the friend in her 



THE POPPY. 21 

arms ; and now quite a different time commenced 
for her. Not only that she no more felt lonely, but 
the hearts of all beings turned towards her, since 
Sleep, the favorite of all that has life, came with 
her, when she drove the- Day away from the earth. 
" Soon some other kindly beings were to be found 
in her train, the children of Night and Sleep — the 
Dreams. These wandered with the parents over 
the earth, and soon they had formed friendship with 
men, who themselves were then yet in their hearts 
like children. But, alas! this soon changed. Pas- 
sions awoke in men, and in their souls it began to 
be more and more gloomy. Children are easily 
contaminated by bad society, and thus it happened 
that also some Dreams, by their intercourse with 
men, became frivolous, deceitful and unpleasing. 
Sleep observed this change in his children, and 
was about to expel the degenerate ones from his 
society; but then the sisters interceded for them 
and said : * Allow these brothers to remain with 
us; they are not so bad as they appear, and we 
promise thee, as much as is in our power, to make 
amends whenever they should go a little too far in 
their mischievousness.' The father granted the 
wish of his good children ; and thus even the bad 
Dreams remained in his company, who, how- 
ever, as experience has shown, always have most 



22 THE POPPY, 

wonderfully the greatest predilection for bad 
men. 

" With men, in the mean while, things grew worse 
and worse. Once, during a splendid night, a man 
was lying on the fragrant turf, and Sleep and 
Dreams had approached him; but Sin did not 
allow them to have any power over him. In hJ3 
soul there was rising a horrible thought — the 
thought of fratricide. It was in vain that Sleep 
poured upon him, from his wand, the soothing 
drops ; it was in vain that the Dreams were hover- 
ing about him with their variegated images; — 
always again he withdrew himself from their soft 
dominion. Then Sleep called his children to him. 
' Let us flee,' said he ; ' this man is not worthy of 
our gifts I ' And they fled. When they were far 
off", Sleep took his wand, half in anger about its 
having given this time so poor a proof of its power, 
and stuck it into the ground. On the top of it, the 
Dreams playfully hung their light, aerial, checkered 
pictures, which they had intended to make a pres- 
ent of to the man. Night saw this, and breathed 
life into the wand, that it might take root in the 
earth. It grew verdant, and concealed ever since, 
just as before, the drops which call and bring Sleep. 
And the gifts of the Dreams were formed into ten- 
der, variegated, fluttering leaves. Thus we Pop- 
pies have originated." 



THE POPPY. 23 

The story was finished, and on all sides the 
Flowers thankfully bowed to the narrator. When 
it was daylight, the leaves of a Centifolia were 
scattering here and there through the woods, and 
stopped near every Flower which they passed by, 
whispering to each a sad farewell. And tears hung 
on all the Flowers. 



THE PINE-TREE 



" Please tell me why did the Pine-tree creak, 
when the Daisy told us that the Winter was angry 
and could not bear the Flowers ?" asked the 
Linden. 

" Because he was out of humor," replied the 
Oak. " Whenever he is out of humor, he creaks. 
JIave you not yet heard that ? When the Wind 
comes and sweeps through the forest, then it calls 
out to us Trees: 'Bend I' But the Pine says: 
* Stand firm!' And when the Trees of the forest 
then have fears yet, and pay their homage to the 
Wind, the Pine remains standing quite prim, and 
only turns disapprovingly round, and creaks be- 
cause he is angry." 

" Well, what has that to do with the Winter 
and the Daisy ?" said the Linden. 

" Ask him, please ask him," chattered the Pop- 
lar ; " you then will hear what he says ; he often 
gives sharp answers." 



THE PINE-TREE. ' 25 

The Linden, nevertheless, was curious to know. 
AVho will find fault with her for that? When one 
is standing from one end of the year to the other, 
on the same spot, one is very loth to let a story 
escape for fear of receiving a pointed answer, 
Does it grow too sharp, then one shakes it off ; 
and the Trees can do that too. But the Linden 
was prudent, and first thought of a suitable be- 
ginning. 

" Pine-tree," she said, " how does it happen that 
you always wear the same robe, in winter and in 
summer, on cold and on warm days?" 
• " Because I am not vain, and do not want, like 
you, always to have something new," answered 
the Pine. 

"There you have it — pocket that I" said the 
Poplar. 

And yet the Pine was wrong; that was not the 
reason, for after all he could not prevail against his 
nature. Men, too, do not act much better, and 
always ascribe to themselves, as a particular vir- f 
tue, what is implanted in their nature. He who 
has no taste for dress, rails at the vain ones ; yea, 
there are people that rail at poetry, because they 
themselves have no susceptibility of that kind, and 
these are more in the wrong than the Pine-tree. 

The Linden was almost inclined to take excep- 
2 



26 



THE PINE-TREE. 



tion at the answer, and never again to meddle 
with the Pine; bat she was too curious for that; 
and this was good, for on one hand pouting is of 
no use, and on the other hand, she would not have 
heard the story about the Winter, nor we either. 
The Linden therefore grumbled something in- 
wardly ; but then she turned round again to the 
gruff neighbor, and said: 

" You very well might tell us something about 
the Winter ; you know him, and you are fond of 
him, as they say. We others do not know any- 
thing about him, for we sleep when he comes ; 
but you are awake, and you two tell each other 
something the whole enduring time." 

The Pine was silent for a while, and all the 
Trees were listening, desirous to know what would 
ensue. The Willow only said : " Linden, you 
have courage, you venture to accost liim .'" 

At last the Pine replied : " Let me alone ; and 
if you wish to know something about the Winter, 
« then keep yourselves awake. He who will learn 
something, must not spend his time in sleeping." 

Now the conversation would have been at an 
end, if the Oak had not acted as a mediator. He 
was very much respected among the Trees of the 
Forest, because he was the oldest and the strongest. 
Who knows, whether the former would have pro- 



THE PINE-TREE. 27 

cured him any respect, if the latter had not been 
combined with it. 

" Pine-tree," said he, " you seem to be a very 
unsociable fellow, but you are not so bad ; you 
only show yourself always in the worst light. I 
know you better, for I saw you even when you 
were hardly a year old ; when you had formed 
only one green shoot. But why are you so gruff 
towards your companions ? Has not one soil pro- 
duced us ? Do not our roots entwine in the depth, 
like as our branches do above ? Do we not in com- 
mon defy dangers which we singly could not with- 
stand? It is not well to separate one's self, and 
moreover for so trifling things. Because they 
adorn themselves with leaves, and you with nee- 
dles, because your bark perhaps is rougher than 
that of the Beech, therefore you will separate 
yourself, will appear to be unkind, though you are 
not. Oh, no I tell it to your companions ; be now 
glad with them during the good days, since you 
must act in concert with them during the heavy 
times.". 

These were serious words. The Pine-tree took 
them to heart ; many another one might do so 
too ! The Pine collected his thoughts ; then he 
spoke as follows : 

" You wish to hear about the Winter ? Well, 



28 THE PINE-TREE. 

then, lay aside your prejudices against him, for I 
know you do not like hitn. Do not believe that I 
am partial to him, because he is my friend ; I only 
tell the truth, becauee I know him. But I will 
commence at once. When God, the Lord, had 
created the Earth, when the Flowers were glittering 
in the Fields, and the Trees in the Forests, he called 
the Seasons, and said : ' Behold my world, how 
beautiful it is. I make it over to you. Divide 
among yourselves the Flowers and Trees, but do 
love and cherish them too.' Then the Seasons 
were very happy, and revelled with the children of 
Nature. Things went on well for a short time ; 
but then, here and there a dissension commenced 
to spring up between them. The pert and fickle 
Spring could not harmonize with the slow, sedate 
Winter; the glowing Summer .found Autumn to 
be phlegmatic ; Autumn scolded Spring because he 
spoiled the Flowers, — in fine, the strife grew more 
and more violent, and the Flow^ers and Trees got 
the worst of it. Then Autumn said : ' This will 
not do any longer, we can no more get along 
together, therefore come and let us divide.' And so 
it was done. The Seasons divided the earth. At 
both the poles Winter built his house ; Summer 
entwined himself around the middle of the earth; 
and Spring and Autumn erected their empire in 



THE PINE-TREE. 29 

the midst. Afterwards you will hear, that they 
did not fully abide by this division ; but well nigh 
so it is even now, and Winter is still living in his 
old house." 

" Where did you learn that from ? " asked the 
Linden. 

" My cousin, who once paid him a visit there, 
told me so." 

" Take care, he tells us idle stories," whispered 
the Poplar to his neighbor. 

"How could your cousin pay him a visit?" 
asked the Linden; "must he not stand fast, as 



well as we : 



?" 



" That happened thus," replied the Pine. " Once 
there came some bold enterprising men, and se- 
lected wood to build a ship of. My cousin, a 
slender, high Pine-tree, was standing, quite proud, 
among the other Trees of the Forest. Hardly had 
they espied him, when he was cut down, and they 
made a mast of him. Now they went to sea. 
The sailors gave a large sheet to my cousin, and 
said, ' Hold it fast ! ' Upon his top they planted a 
checkered, far-shining pendant. My cousin was 
quite cheerful on the voyage, and performed his 
duty well ; and when the wind came, and wanted 
to take the cloth away from him, he held it 
fast, and did not bend. For that the Ship's crew 



30 THE PINE-TRKE. 

honored him above all the other timbers in the 
vessel. 

"Their course was all the time shaped towards the 
North, and lo, all at once they came to the Winter's 
house. It is true, the house looked quite plain, but 
strong, and when the Vessel knocked. Winter came 
out, quite astonished at the rare visitor. Yet he 
remembered that, when he comes, he often is re- 
ceived with very little kindness; and thus he did 
not feel much inclined either to be hospitable, and 
shook his head so that the white flakes were freely 
whirling around. Then he perceived my cousin, 
and since he is particularly attached to us Pine- 
trees, he became friendly at once, and directly they 
commenced chatting. He wished to know how 
every one of my cousin's brothers fared, and when 
the Mast had informed him about everything, he 
too commenced to relate nothing but wonderful 
stories, and the one which yon hear now from me, 
is one of them. 

" There' was no end of the stories, and the old 
master was so happy in all his recollections which 
he now communicated, that he did not like to let 
the Ship go away at all, and that he clasped her in 
his strong arms. My cousin cannot find an end of 
telling how beautiful that was ; but the better he 
felt, the worse the Ship's crew fared. One morning 



THE PINE-TREE. 31 

he heard that they held council. ' Our fuel is con- 
sumed ; our provisions are well nigh gone,' said the 
Mate, ' and if the ice does not thaw very soon, we 
must perish in misery; let us cut the Mast to pieces 
and use it for fuel, so that we at least may hold 
out for some time yet' 

" When my cousin heard this, he entreated the 
Winter to let the Ship go, and Winter, in order ta 
save his favorite, granted /um, what he would not 
have done for the sake of pleasing the men. He 
allowed the ice to thaw, and the Ship, with its 
crew, safely returned home." 

" That was good ! " exclaimed the Trees, with 
one voice. 

" But now let me Yeturn to my story," said 
the Pine. " The -earth then was divided, and 
the Seasons had, each, their own dominion. Thus 
it probably would have continued to be, if Spring, 
in his fickle manner, had not called again for an 
alteration. He did not like always to remain in 
the same spot; he called the Seasons together, and 
made them the following proposition : ' Let us 
divide differently,' said he, 'and since the earth be- 
longs to us in common, let us not remain confined 
to one single space. Each of us shall have a defi- 
nite time, during \<^hich he may possess the whole 
earth, and during which he alone shall reign.' 



32 THE PINE-TREE. 

" ' I am satisfied with it,' said the Snminer, ' if I 
only keep for myself the Girdle of the earth.' ' 

" ' And I my Poles,' said the Winter. 

"The light-minded Spring agreed to everything, 
if he only reached his end, and Autumn hoped to 
indemnify himself in some other way. Thus the 
compact was made, and Spring was already about 
to commence his reign, when the considerate Win- 
ter said : 

" ' But in order that one may not take for his 
own, all that is beautiful upon the earth, let us 
divide that too.' 

" ' Good,' said the Spring, ' I take the buds ! ' 

'"The blossoms belong to mel' said the Sum- 
mer. 

" ' The fruits are mine !' exclaimed the avaricious 
Autumn, — 'and the leaves of the trees the Winter 
shall keep for himself.' 

"Winter made no objection; the bargain was 
concluded, and Spring began his reign. By his kiss- 
es he drew forth the buds on Tree and Flower, and 
everything smiled on him. Thereupon, when the 
buds expanded, w^hen a thousand colors were glit- 
tering on leaf and flower. Summer took possession 
of the throne on earth. Then, however, the estab- 
lished order began directly to be infringed upon; 
for Autumn, who was always eager to promote his 



THE PINE-TREE. 33 

own interest, made a separate contract with the 
Summer. Summer was to leave some flowers for 
him, and he gave the former some fruits in their 
stead ; yet, as they say, he did not lose by the bar- 
gain, and kept the best for himself. Now he alone 
succeeded to the empire, and with busy hands he, 
gathered the fruits, for he had a right to do so. 

" Something else, however, had happened, by 
which poor Winter was badly cheated. You 
remember that after the division, the Leaves of the 
Trees had fallen to the lot of Winter. In the glow- 
ing time of love, however, when on high, leaf was 
hanging near leaf, and when the Flowers were glit- 
tering below in the Grass, and coquettishly exhibit- 
ing their thousand colors, a courtship had commen- 
ced between Leaves and Flowers. As is often the 
case,this love commenced with all sorts of capricious 
tricks. When the Sun wished to shine warm and 
glowing upon the Flowers, the Leaves of the Trees 
put themselves in the way; but before the Flowers 
were aware of it, they bent downwards, so that the 
glare of the Sun suddenly came down and dazzled 
the little ones below. The Flowers shut their eyes, 
and the Leaves tittered above on the branches. Or 
when a refreshing rain fell, the Leaves kept some 
little drops, and when the Flowers thought all was 
over, they suddenly let them fall down, so that the 



34 THE PINE-TREE. 

Flowers were frightened and shook their heads. 
What was only teasing in the beginning, soon 
became an act of kindness ; for the Sun grew hotter 
and hotter, and all the poor, fender Flowers would 
have withered away, if the Leaves had not, like a 
^ shield, intercepted the fiery darts of the rays. 

" After this deeper earnest of affection the little 
tricks were no more sufficient for them, and they 
soon looked about for a means of communication. 
There the Leaves hung on high, and the Flowers 
were glimmering in the 'Grass. Love always 
knows how to find expedients. Leaves and 
Flowers soon had chosen a messenger who might 
carry up and down their sighs and vows, — it was 
the Ivy. Below among the Flowers it had sprung 
forth, and like a green garland it twined round up 
to the Leaves of the Trees, Leaf closely pressed to 
Leaf, a scale of sweet vows, a silent chain of love. 
Who would not, on the first sight, recognize this 
delightful calling ? upon whom did it not breathe 
from the ever-green Vines, like the reserved sighs of 
enthusiastic first love? And the Flowers and Leaves 
were satisfied with such messages. But then the 
dominion of Autumn drew towards its close, and 
he wished to gather the last Flowers on the field. 
The Leaves faded away from ardent desire, and 
entreated Autumn with earnest prayers, only one 



THE PINE-TREE. .3'5 

single time to let them descend to their dying 
Loves. And Autumn granted their request, though 
he had not a right to do it, and encroached upon 
the rights of the Winter, who alone had dominion 
over the Leaves. Autumn shook the Trees, and 
down came the detached Leaves fluttering to the 
ground. Now really a wild scene of love com- 
menced. Autumn, who took a delight in it, played 
a wild tune; the Leaves flew in a whirling dance 
around the Flowers, until these, languid and ex- 
hausted, bowed their heads, and until the Leaves, 
at the last tune that Autumn dashed off, laid 
themselves down to eternal rest. 

" Then -the Winter came along. Bare and desert- 
ed, Field and Forest received him. Nothing met 
him robed in verdure, except we poor Pine-trees, for 
no little Flower had cared to commence a flirtation 
with our Needles ; nothing besides us except the 
Ivy which was yet entwining itself from Tree to 
Tree, as if it would adorn a triumphal arch for the 
Winter, and from branch to branch, as if it would 
conceal the faithlessness of the Leaves and lend the 
Trees an attire in the place of the lost, scattered 
foliage. Winter perceived it with emotion, and 
whilst he angrily dashed to the ground the last 
Leaves which, against their will, hung neglected 
and solitary here and there on the branches, and 



36 THE PINE-TREE. 

whilst he drove them about over ice and snow, he 
spoke solemnly to the Leaves of the Ivy: ' You I 
will protect, you I will guard, that you may per- 
form the kind office which you have chosen for 
yourselves; be and remain to be messengers of 
Love; carry silent greetings over from Flower 
to Leaf, from Autumn to S])ring; form an ever- 
lasting bridge from Season to Season ! Your call- 
ing is, to entwine and to unite; you, the ever 
verdant reminiscences of Fields and Forests, you 
shall unarm even the severity of Winter.' 

" Thus the Winter spoke to the Ivy, but to us 
Pine-trees, he devoted his deepest affection, and he 
prepared honors for us in which you other Trees 
will not participate." 

"And what is that?" asked the other Trees, 
touched. 

" The Winter is the season of affection," pro- 
ceeded the Pine-tree, " therefore he had directly 
perceived and honored that feeling in the Ivy. 
Men know that, for in no other season they attach 
themselves more closely to each other than in the 
Winter. So this Season brings along with him 
the soul-affecting, holy, mysterious Christm.as ; so 
you see in his company the friendly spirit, the 
Christkindel. Men say : Christkindel, that is the 
love of parents and of friends; but this is not true. 



THE PINE-TREE. 37 

When he puts his charms into effect, then it is done 
with a man. The mother is musing day and 
night during the first part of Wintej, but this only, 
because Christkindel is constantly whispering into 
her ear. And whoever, about Christmas, goes out 
to buy something, he always brings home more 
than he intended to, he always shortens his purse 
more than he wished to. It is not the beautiful 
things that tempt him ; no, it is Christkindel who 
everywhere beckons and whimpers, and pulls at the 
heart, so that the hand opens and always opens 
itself again, until he has prepared the richest 
Christmas-gift. 

" We Pine-trees, we know this, for we always 
stand in the midst of the whole; we are the Christ- 
mas-trees, and in the highest of the Christmas- 
glee, the good Christkindel puts us in the midst. 
We are nowhere wanting, neither in the palace, 
nor in the hut. However poor the parents may 
be, a couple of little lights they put for the rejoic- 
ing children upon our green boughs. Gold and 
silver are hanging down from us, glittering fruits 
we bear, and the cMldren clap their hands before 
us ; for though everything be ever so beautiful, the 
Christmas-tree remains to be the most beautiful ; 
Christkindel has surrounded it with his most 
particular, most wonderful charms. Perhaps the 



38 THE PINE-TREE. ^ 

children love the Christmas-tree so much, be- 
cause it is, itself, like the brimful heart of a 
child. Around the green boughs of Hope there 
are winding all sorts of glowing pictures; rich and 
golden is it standing there, mysterious and unex- 
plained. But one glowing picture after the other 
falls off, the gold is found to be tinsel, the hopes 
wither, the secret is unriddled ; with the last bauble 
they take ofl", the whole miracle vanishes, and 
nothing remains but a withered Pine-tree. In 
the child's heart one golden dream after the other 
is dispelled ; one mystery after the other, in which 
it was wrapt up, is solved ; and how much is life 
different from that picture which the child's soul 
bore of it within ! " 

" When all the trifling ornaments have fallen, is 
then your glory past ? " demanded the Aspen-tree. 

" Then they put the Tree into the fire," said the 
Pine, "and then he often hears many a beautiful, 
wonderful story which the men relate to each 
other, when they look down into the flame. He 
listens very attentively, but when something oc- 
curs that he does not like, then he crackles so that 
the sparks fly about, and the men are startled 
all around the fire-place. And though the golden 
apples have been eaten; yet withal the children 



<» THE PINE-TREE. 39 

look sad from out their corner, when the Christ- 
mas-tree is consumed by the fire." 

" Now you see, that is the story of the Winter 
and the Pine-tree. At some other time I will tell 
you a wonderful tale, which a Christmas-tree heard 
in the fire-place; for men too know quite pretty 
stories." 

" Yes, at some other time." 



THE FOREST-BROOK. 



The Pine-tree had concluded his narrative with 
the melancholy prospect of a doubtful continua- 
tion ; his last words had softly vanished, and over 
the whole Forest there was spread a deep calmness. - 
One noise only sounded through this solemn quie- 
tude ; the bubbling of the Forest-brook, which beat 
with interrupted sounds at Stones, and at the roots 
of Trees — this eternal Clock of the Forest. And as 
it was murmuring along, now brightly glittering in 
the sunshine, now obscured by the shadows of 
Trees and of Clouds, and dissolving in its ripples 
the images which were reflected on its surface, this 
monotonous sound formed itself into distinct words, 
and without being summoned and yet listened to 
by Flowers and Trees, the Forest-brook began a 
tale. 

Trees and Flowers were listening attentively. A 
solemn silence was spread over the Forest ; only the 
Brook was bubbling along, the only sound far and 



THE FOREST-BROOK. 41 

near. That is the Stillness of the Woods. Who 
does not know it? who is there that never yet has 
met it with its sabbath-rest of the plants of the 
Forest ? All round about so quiet and solemn I 
Even the game breathes softer and does not stir ; 
even the huntsman is seized as with a holy, pleas- 
ant awe, and he forgets his passion, and sinks 
down upon the grass amidst the universal Stillness 
of the Woods. That is the time when the Brook 
relates wonderful tales to the Trees and Flowers ; 
that is the Wood's repose. 

And the Brook related : 

" Do you know where I descend from ? Do you 
know my origin ? You know that of the Brook 
of the Meadow. There it visibly cometh forth as 
a little Spring above a stone or at the side of a 
hill ; grows then larger and larger, so that the short 
robe of Grasses is no more sufficient for it, however 
much they stretch their necks, out of love for it ; 
and at last it puts on the stiff and tight bodice of 
Reeds, with the loose spangles of blossoms, or with 
the black buttons. Of the Mountain-brook you 
know, too, where it comes from. On the height 
there is lying the snow, the eternal cap of the 
Mountains, which alone the Sun colors when he 
rises and when he sets, and which the Clouds, 
when they pass by, adorn with wonderful veils. 



42 THE FOREST-BROOK. 

Near by in the ra\4nes the ice of the glaciers is 
glittering, unmoved and dark-blue in its clefts. 
On its surface it appears unchangeably firm, but 
within a sprightly life is stirring; there is a flowing 
and a running, and through the clefts and crevices 
the Drops and the Water play eternally at hide-and- 
seek, for the Sun incessantly kisses the summits of 
the Mountain. This faithful love, at last, moves 
and softens its rigid heart of ice, and those little 
Springs are the children of these Kisses. They seek 
and catch each other, until they think it is there 
too narrow, and then they will find an outlet. But 
when they come to light, they at first are aston- 
ished and amazed at the wide world which expands 
before Ihem. Curious little Springs, however, come 
after them, and now they venture further, at first 
slowly and hesitating, then faster and faster, and 
thereupon they jump, — a merry Mountain-brook 
— daringly from rock to rock, like the Chamois 
which was born not far from them. Now the 
Brook foams high up, like the snows of the Moun- 
tain, then it glitters clearly, an unbroken mirror, 
like the ice of the glaciers, until it descends into 
the valley, and becomes quiet in the lovely still- 
ness of the Fields. 

" Bat where do I come from, I, the Forest- 
brook? You do not find the Spring that produced 



THE FOREST-BROOK. 43 

me, nor snow, nor ice, whose child I might be. 
Follow my course. Here, you think it arises, and 
you extend your hand behind a Stone, behind a 
tuft of Moss ; but it is gone, and further on, behind 
the knotty root of a Tree, it laughs at you. Some- 
times I conceal myself, as a broad muTor, below a 
thousand Herbs and Blossoms; sometimes I sink 
down among a heap of loose Stones, which, jealous 
of the verdure of the Woods, have also put caps 
of green moss upon their grey heads ; but there I 
flow on, and yonder I come drippling forth again. 
You do not find the source ; it remains a secret 
of the Woods. Hear, then, how I did originate* 

" On the top of a light Cloud, which softly passed 
over the fields, there was sitting a tender Elf, the 
favorite waiting-maid of the Queen of the Elfs, and 
she was adjusting the trinkets of her mistress. 
She drew forth from a little casket a long, long 
string of costly pearls, a present of the Sea. 'Take 
good care of them,' Titania had said, 'of these tears 
of the Sea ; they are my dearest ornament.' The 
pearls really are tears of the Sea, which it however 
does not lose by weeping, but which it closely 
locks up at the bottom, until the fisherman draws 
them forth to the light at the risk of his own life. 
They have become fixed and solid, but still they 
look, in their dim lustre, like eyes injured by weep- 



44 THE FOREST-BROOK. 

ing. The little Elf was delighted with the pearls, 
and lifted the string high up to see whether they 
would not shine more brightly in the sunshine ; 
but a pearl is not like a precious stone, which bor- 
rows its lustre from the external world ; the tear of 
the Sea conceals its affection within itself, and 
glows from within. 

" Behind the Elf sat Puck, the rogue, who plays 
tricks on men and elfs, and whilst she was rejoicing 
over the trinket, he cut, unperceived, the string? 
and down rolled the pearls, first over the Cloud and 
then down upon the earth. The little Elf first sat 
Tnotionless with terror, but then she* started and 
flew down from the Cloud after the falling pearls. 
When she thus was soaring between the Cloud 
and the earth, she saw how the globules dispersed 
in all directions and rolled and glittered ; and giv- 
ing up every hope, she was about to return, when 
she saw a green field below, and in the Grass and 
on the Flowers there were glimmering thousands of 
pearls, which she believed to be the lost ones. The 
little Elf was yet holding in her arm the casket in 
which the string of pearls had been locked up, 
and busily she began to put them into it again. 
The casket already began to fill up, but then 
Titania's lovely maid perceived that it was not 
pearls, the tears of the Sea, that she was gathering, 



THE FOREST-BROOK. 45 

but dew, the tears of the Flowers, and in sadness 
she went further on her way to seek what she had 
lost. 

" Behold, there she saw pearls hanging in the 
eyes of a mother who was bending over her dying 
child, and she gathered them — tears of love there; 
and as she went on, she found yet other weeping 
eyes ; tears so many, that her little casket flowed 
over. Alas, how many tears are wept upon the 
earth ! for out of the eyes of men there arises a 
wonderful little Brook ; but its source I can tell you, 
its source is the heart. There grief, sadness, re- 
pentance, sometimes even joy must knock, in order 
that the little Brook may flow. And this little 
Brook exerts a wonderful, charming influence, for 
that heart verily must be quite hard which other 
persons' tears no more can move. Men often wish 
to stay it, and say, I have no compassion for these 
tears, they are well deserved. But that is very 
wrong, for tears they are at all events, and they 
just as well come out of the heart, which has been 
knocked at the harder perhaps. 

" Now, our little Elf believed all these tears to 
be the lost pearls ; she clasped the casket tightly 
in her arms, and ascended with it to the Cloud. 
Alas, the casket became heavier and heavier, for 
tears do not weigh light, and when she opened it, 



46 THE FOREST-BROOK. 

all the supposed pearls were dissolved. Disconso- 
late she flew from one Cloud to the other, for every 
one of them was fond of her, and she told them ol 
her grief. Then the Clouds sent their Rain down to 
the earth to seek what she had lost. There was 
a streaming and a flowing, and Trees and Herbs 
bowed down, and the dew was wiped off"; but the 
pearls were not found. Puck, the rogue, saw this, 
saw the poor little Elf's grief which he had caused, 
and really he was sorry for it, for he only intended 
to tease, but not to afllict her. Down he dived 
into the bosom of the earth, and fetched from his 
friends, the Goblins and Gnomes, glittering ore of 
many colors, showy baubles; and he carried them 
up to the little Elf. ' There you have again all the 
trumpery, and better and more showy too,' said 
he. 

" The little Elf repiced, and the Clouds stopped 
raining. But when she examined the gift more 
closely, it was nothing but trifles and show, and 
angrily she seized the cup in which they lay, and 
flung it far away, so that the glittering little pieces 
flew in a wide bow over the whole horizon. That 
was the first rainbow. Ever since when the Clouds 
weep. Puck also fetches again his gewgaws, and 
the spectacle is repeated. The rainbow is beau- 
tiful, we all rejoice to see it, and men too ; but yet 



THE FOREST-BROOK. 47 

it is deceiving, a gift of the Gnomes, a work of 
Puck, the rogue. Men know that very well, for 
when they hasten after it, it runs along before 
them, unattainable, and all at once it has vanished. 
Where did it go to ? ' It falls into the Sea,' the 
children say, 'and the Nymphs make of it their gay 
robes.' What then chance produced. Puck builds 
now up, himself. With his treasures he passes 
through the sky, and when he then has something 
left, he flies back and builds with the remainder a 
second bow, a smaller and less shining one. That 
is the reason why you see this shining phenome- 
non so often double on the horizon, and why you 
see it never except when the Clouds weep from 
compassion with the sorrow of the Elf, whom Puck 
teased, and yet afterwards tried to comfort. 

" Our little Elf was all the time yet sorrowful, 
sitting on the Cloud, and could not take any delight 
in the first rainbow which she herself had pro- 
duced. Then Titania approached her. At this 
time the capricious Queen was in very good spirits, 
and when her maid had told her the cause of her 
grief, she smiled and pardoned her readily. Per- 
haps she could easily get over this loss, because a 
Sprite of the Sea whose heart she had won, had 
already promised her another -string of pearls; for 
great folks are liberal, even with the tears which are 



48 THE FOREST-BROOK. 

entrusted to them. But what was she to do now 
with the contents of the heavy little casket which 
the Elf all the time yet was carrying in her arm ? 

" ' Hasten down to the most secret and most 
lovely spot of my forest,' said Titania, ' and pour 
these drops out between the most fragrant Herbs; 
let these tears continue to be what they are, but. 
united they shall flow — a large tear of the Forest.' 

" The servant obeyed the Queen's commands, 
and thus the first Forest-brook began to flow along, 
thus also the Forest had its tears. Do you know 
now whence I originate ? Like as the source of 
men's tears, so is mine too — the Heart, the hidden 
Heart of the Woods. "When melancholy, when 
longing feelings or grief knock at the same, then 
the tear flows. In the Summer, when many a 
child of the Forest is broken down and destroyed, I 
flow softly, but incessantly. In the Autumn, when 
everything is dying away, I lament in silent grief 
over the blossoms and leaves which the wind often 
scatters on my course, so that the sorrow expressed 
in their behalf may, at the same time, be their 
grave. In the desolate loneliness of Winter I get 
to be benumbed, and the tear becomes a pearl, like 
the hidden grief of the Sea. Thus I hang at the 
roots and at the stones with the dim lustre of over- 
wept eyes. But in the Spring, when longing desires 



THE FOREST-BROOK. 49 

arise in every heart, then the tear of the Woods 
flows with melancholy and with joy, then I swell 
much and step beyond the borders of my course, 
to greet the Flowers and the Grass, as far as I can. 
Compassion even awakes me often, for when the 
Clouds w^eep their rain or the Flowers their dew, 
then the Forest-brook increases also. 

" Do you not feel that the Heart of the Woods is 
my source — from, my whole appearance, from the 
breath of sentiment and melancholy which I breathe 
forth towards you? The melancholy Reed keeps 
close to me. Where I flow, there grows especially 
the affectionate Forget-me-not, which sweetly looks 
up like faithful blue eyes in the hour of parting. 
The Weeping Willow, in its never ceasing mourn- 
ing, lets its branches drop down even into my 
waves. Everywhere I excite feeling. Even the 
Stone which my course touches, the unchangeable 
Stone, which time passes by unnoticed, he weeps 
after me in clear tears, when my waves touch him, 
and my tears are the only thing he is not proof 
against. Therefore I love the Stone. 

" Men know a strange, sad story about a man 
who outlives everything, whom death shuns for 
ever. Of this the Stone reminds me ; he is the 
Ahasuerus of the Woods, and he would be able to 



50 THE FOREST-BROOK. 

tell you a great many things ; his memory reaches 
into times long past. 

" Puck, the rogue, is now jealous of the Forest- 
brook, whom he wanted to cut out with his 
baubles, and who, notwithstanding, received an 
imperishable signification ; and he often throws 
vexingly a knotty root or a sharp stone in my way, 
so that my drops spirt high up and disperse. Then 
you see in the sunshine various colors, like those of 
the rainbow, flitting around me. These are the 
baubles of Puck which he hangs alongside of my 
glitter, as though he would say, — ' Well, are not 
my gifts prettier?' But quickly they have passed 
away, and I flow on unchanged. Thus comical 
and wanton things often are brought in close con- 
tact with sad and sorrowful ones, as if a trickish 
Sprite had produced them. Even man's heart, 
when it is well nigh breaking, often flutters with 
comical emotions ; even around the weeping face 
there is often playing the expression of a smile. 
In the deepest harmony of nature we often meet 
with an odd distortion. A knotty root, a withered 
dry branch stretch forth from among the rich ta- 
pestry of the turf, from among the well-rounded 
fulness of the foliage; among the sound, full- 
blown Roses you find all at once a stunted one, 
which looks forth from among the sisters like a 



THE FOREST-BROOK. 51 

distorted face. All this is brought about by Puck. 
But a deeply feeling soul knows just as well as 
nature, how to counterbalance all these mischiev- 
ous acts." 

Thus the Forest-brook concluded. The stillness 
continued yet, and Leaf and Flower only rustled 
and whispered softly. There all at once a crackling 
was heard ; a dry branch, with a crash, broke off 
from the top of an Oak. It fell down, so that the 
Leaves above dispersed and the Flowers below 
were crushed, and it fell splashing into the Brook, 
so that the drops spirted high up, and that the water 
was stirred up dark from its depth. A second, 
and everything again was quiet. 

That, too, was done by Puck, the arch fellow. 



THE STONE. 



The stillness, however, did not last long ; it was 
only the first fright. And how could it possibly- 
last? Where so many are standing close together, 
and are living so very near each other, there they 
always find something to chat about. The Flowers 
and Trees had taken a fancy to such narratives, 
and would have liked very much to hear some 
more. 

" If the Stone really knows something to relate," 
said a high-grown Foxglove, " then we will ask 
him to communicate it to us ; yes, it is in fact his 
duty, once to do something for our entertainment' 
for he wedges himself in between us, hinders our 
being near together, and always- remains mute." 

" Foxglove is again the most curious one," said 
the Strawberry-blossom. 

" Curious ! " replied the Foxglove, — "I always 
have to hear you reproaching me with that ; and 
from whence this imputation ? " 



THE STONE. 53 

" Because you are so curious, you shoot up so 
high, that you may be able to look far about," said 
the Strawberry-blossom. 

"How silly!" said, the Foxglove; "I do that 
only that I may be able to look over the Stone." 

" Vain excuse," muttered Strawberry-blossom. 

" Pray what are you doing then ? " asked Fox- 
glove. 

" I bear fruit I " 

" Why do you quarrel ? " said the Beech from 
above. " One of you is as vain and as curious as 
the other, and that even is natural ; what grows to 
be only one year old, certainly never passes the 
spoon." 

This inconsiderate word was nigh producing a 
stupendous war, for all the Flowers felt offended, 
and unanimously they determined not to endure 
this affront without punishing the offender. The 
Sword-lily, the commander of the standing army, 
was summoned. The light troops of the Monk's- 
hood prepared themselves, and the large artillery 
of the Thorn-apples was put in motion. The fac- 
tions of the Foxglove and of the Strawberry, which 
in fact had produced the whole commotion, deter- 
mined to unite against the common enemy; Nettles 
and Thistles, as the militia of the Flowers, were call- 
ed in, and a summons for volunteers was published. 



54 THE STONE. 

The Rose was the first to show its willingness, and 
was already sharpening its thorns. By the way, 
be it observed, that it had a particular grudge 
against the Trees, because they would not acknowl- 
edge it to be one of their equals, although its stem 
often rises to be quite a stately little Tree. The 
dispute had been carried on for an infinite number 
of years, and the diplomacy of the Flowers and 
Trees had negotiated much hither and thither, in 
which endeavors, especially, the Black-thorn had 
distinguished itself, who had taken^ up the cause 
of the Rose with a great deal of zeal, because it was 
in close social relation to the high-grown Roses. 
It is a pity that the transactions, after the custom 
of the Flowers and Trees, were all carried on orally, 
otherwise we should be in the possession of an- 
immense pile of documents about this dispute, 
which would be of great value in regard to diplo- 
macy, even for the single reason that the parties 
were on the last page exactly as far as on the 
first. 

In the mean while, the other Flowers who had 
not, like the Rose, to fight for a private cause, had 
not been idle in respect to this combat for their 
honor; especially the Anemone made long speeches 
about the rights of the Flowers, and the Reed-grass 
made poems. The Whortleberry filled its little 



THE STONE. 55 

cask, and offered its services as sutler, and a great 
troop of different Flowers had already formed a vol- 
unteer corps, spoke much, and not without enthu- 
siasm, of dying for the general weal, and depicted 
silently to themselves, in the most glowing colors, 
the rejoicing, and the part which they, each by 
itself, would act in the grand feast of victory and 
triumph. 

The affair was really serious, though the Trees 
did not exactly yet prepare arms. Now several of 
them, from indolence, did not like the war much, 
and especially was the Pine-tree out of humor, for 
as he just now had told about the tender relation 
between the Flowers and the Leaves of the Trees, 
this might sorely give him the lie. Besides, the 
eagerness for war was quickly passing off in most 
of the Flowers. They would have liked rather to 
hear the Stone relate, and thus it was a thing 
very acceptable to all, that the Hawthorn and the 
Blackberry took the matter in hand, and com- 
menced negotiations for peace. The Blackberry 
was particularly busy, as it considered itself some- 
what related to the Strawberry, who indirectly had 
commenced the quarrel ; and the Hawthorn, which 
stands between Tree and Flower, was certainly 
a very good mediator in this controversy. Yet 
the settlement was not easy ; for the Beech could 



56 THE STONE. 

by no means be prevailed upon entirely to recall 
his offending words. At last they found this expe- 
dient : The Beech declared, he could, indeed, not 
retract and deny that the Trees grew older than 
the Flowers, but he was willing to acknowledge 
that the Stone was older yet than the Trees. Be- 
sides, he could assure them, that he by no means 
had made his remark with the intention, in any 
way to offend the Flowers, for whom he always 
had had the highest esteem. By this he thought 
he did not derogate from his own dignity. It is 
true, the Foxglove murmured, and the shrewd 
Pink protested, secretly, that this was really saying 
nothing at all ; but the Flowers were satisfied, and 
mutual assurances of esteem and friendship made 
an end of the quarrel. 

■■ The words of the Beech had drawn their at- 
tention again to the Stone, and the wish to induce 
him to speak, became very strong ; for after the 
hue and cry of war, and after the turbulent excite- 
ment, every one was longing for a fantastical 
narrative. 

But how were they to gain the good will of 
the Stone, who w^as so silent and so little commu- 
nicative. The Trees wished to summon the 
Brook to persuade the Stone, because he had prid- 
ed himself on a particularly amicable relation with 



THE STONE. 57 

the latter ; and in fact, he had drawn their atten- 
tion to the Stone's great knowledge. The Flow- 
ers believed the best way to reach their end was 
to ask the help of the Grass, which was on terms 
of friendship with the Moss, and could thus com- 
municate its wishes to the Stone. The peace 
which just then had been concluded, had a very 
unsafe foundation on account of this difference of 
opinion, but then the Brook himself proposed an- 
other way. 

" Ask the Fern to negotiate with the Stone ; 
that is neither a Flower nor a Tree, that is the 
Stone's fan, his mysterious, intimate friend ; which 
bends over him, and attaches itself to him, which 
caresses and flatters him ; he would not deny it 
anything. 

" Fern," said the Flowers, " will you persuade 
the Stone?" 

The Fern nodded, serious and silent. Every- 
body listened ; the Brook murmured as though he 
too were trying to persuade the Stone. Nobody 
has ever heard whether he did or not. The Trees 
shook themselves once more, so that they might 
then be able to be very quiet, and all the Flowers 
stretched their little heads forth from among the 
Grass. In the mean time the FeriT had whispered 
to the Stone the wish of the Woods, and the fol- 
4 



58 THE STONE. 

lowing story of the Stone wonderfully sounded 
forth from among the broad leaves, rustling 
through the Moss which covered him. 

" The Brook was right, indeed, when saying 
that I was the oldest in the whole forest, and knew 
about times which have been, long, long before 
your recollection. On the whole, in the stories 
which I have heard from you, there is a great deal 
of truth, though here and there some corrections 
might be necessary. It is true, as the Poppy told 
you, that one Flower began to bloom after the 
other on the earth ; true is also the Pine-tree's 
story, that the Seasons divided the earth. But 
before that, there was a long, long time, and many 
a struggle had to be gone through, ere everything 
was developed thus far. When God, the Lord, 
had created the world, the earth was a large, huge 
rock, hard and desolate, but firm and immovable. 
As that was lying there so cold, the Lord sent the 
Elements to warm and to fructify it — three pow- 
erful sisters and brothers. First came, in his robe 
of purple and gold, the eldest brother, the Fire. 
Powerful, indomitable, he scoured the Earth, 
knocked and chafed at the Rock; but that was 
too hard, and not so easy to conquer, and however 
much the Fire exerted his heat upon it, it did not 
fosten under his power. Then a fierce combat 



THE STONE. 59 

arose. Here and there the Fire overcame the 
rigidity of the Rock, and broke off large and small 
pieces, which he then scattered far about in his 
exultation over his victory. Thus we large and 
small Stones have originated; and just as the 
Fire dispersed us, so we are lying scattered on the 
earth, without any plan or regularity, only accord- 
ing to the whims of an unsubdued Element. But 
the combat did not always turn out to be favorable 
for the Fire ; and in the same measure that he 
spent his rage and weakened himself, the Rock 
was gathering strength and adroitness to with- 
stand the enemy. 

" Thus it happened at last, that the Fire had to 
submit ; the Rock took him prisoner, and tied him 
down in its interior with powerful chains. There 
he lies yet. Every one of you knows that every 
stone conceals fire, for when they hit each other, 
or when a man who loves the Fire, and who in 
his turn has made him his servant, strikes a stone 
with a steel, the sparks spring forth. All these 
sparks are little dispersed particles of the one great 
power. But how the Fire all the time yet stirs 
and works in the interior of the earth, about that I 
will tell you afterwards. When the Fire was thus 
vanquished, there came his younger brother, in a 
green robe garnished with silver — the Water. 



60 THE STONE. 

This one was more prudent and experienced, and 
had, therefore, easier work; for on one hand he 
could make use of his brother's conquests, on the 
other hand he was, by his brother's fate, made ac- 
quainted with the character of his antagonist. 
When he, therefore, saw that the Fire had prevail- 
ed so little by open combat, he commenced to en- 
treat and to negotiate. He washed and knocked 
at the Rock ; he flattered and he fought, now with 
entreaties, then with cunning, then with force. 

"Thus the earth soon presented another aspect; 
for since the Water had taken possession of all the 
places which his brother had gained by fighting, he 
had directly a firm foothold. He extended himself 
farther and farther in the wide basin where now 
"the sea is. The Rock, good-natured, allowed this, 
but the Water, cunningly rose higher and higher, 
and then sometimes he would break through by 
force, where now the valleys are, and where 
the Water has nestled down the rivers. When 
the Rock even put up with that, and only fixed 
the borders as limits, the Water began to be more 
and more insatiable, and often stepped forth high 
over the banks, upon the Rock. But the latter 
was also conscious of its rights and of its power, 
and drove the Water back. It is true the Water 
yielded, but he had devised an artifice, through 



THE STONE. 61 

which he did not give up everything. All the 
light fragments of the Rock, all that he had gained 
from this hard opponent by washing and flatter- 
ing, he hid it at the bottom of the river. Now, 
when he had stepped over his borders and was 
driven back, he left some of this mixture of water 
and rock behind, and the Rock allowed it, because 
this was even a part of its own self. Thus were 
Sea, River, Rock, and Earth separated. But yet 
everything was and remained sterile and desert; 
for no blessing is connected with that which is 
done on compulsion. 

" Thereupon the Lord sent the charming sister 
of the Elements, in a soft blue robe — the Air — in 
order to mitigate and to bless everything. She 
commenced by making peace between the Rock 
and the Elements. It is true, the Rock could not 
be prevailed upon to liberate the Fire ; but the Air 
received permission to visit her imprisoned brother 
as often as she chose. Now, as often as she did 
so, she took away with her some of his heat, and 
shed that over the whole earth. Then some life 
began to stir on the soil. Germs budded and took 
root. But the heat of the Fire does not do it 
alone ; softening and cooling, the Water must 
saturate the ground, if things shall grow and thrive. 
The Water was very willing to do so, but his 



62 



THE STONE. 



limits were assigned to him. Then the Air ab- 
sorbed the longing sisterly kisses, the salutations of 
the Water; carried them over upon the soil, and 
poured them out there, and .Verdure commenced 
to appear; Trees and Flowers germinated, and 
Man and Beast could live on the Earth. 

" Thus the Air visits alternately the brothers, 
and each gives her a present on her way ; the 
former glowing heat, the latter soft clouds. You 
perceive that all the time yet. You always see 
the Air now in a glowing color, which the em- 
braces of the Fire lent her ; now in a dark robe, 
which the Water, at parting, hung around her. 
You see the Fire of the evening-red, you see the 
glowing of the morning-light, you see the Fogs 
rise when the Air parts from the Water, you see 
the Clouds pass along. 

" But the Clouds, the children of the Water, 
do not feel contented, far away from the Earth. 
The Air orders them to be borne off by her ser- 
vants, the Winds ; but the Clouds look longingly 
back, and weep in their unconquerable homesick- 
ness, until they return to the Earth, totally dissolv- 
ed into tears. Then the particles of Fire, which 
the Air had caused to be carried away, will also 
no longer remain with her, and as the Clouds 
descend, they, too, rush down upon the Earth — 



THE STONE. 63 

those soft and longing, these wild and thundering. 
Thus originates the wonder of the Thunder-storm. 
That moves all Beings upon earth. The mild 
longing of the Clouds communicates itself to them 
as well as the rushing fieriness of the Lightning. 
A fiery terror, mixed with a longing feeling, like 
home-sickness, seizes upon Man and Beast, Tree 
and Blossom. But the blissful influence of the 
Air accompanies them, and when Fire and Water 
have returned to the Earth, then everything takes 
a new start, being strengthened, and thriving 
beautifully. 

" How things then went on further ; how the 
Seasons settled their affair; how the Plants origi- 
nated and grew, all this you have heard. We 
Stones, now, see everything around us grow ver- 
dant and bloom ; we who know about the former 
times of strife and disorder, we rejoice at it, though 
we, banished and overlooked, lie but little esteem- 
ed, on the ground which formerly was entirely our 
property. Thus was it very foolish for the Fox- 
glove to say that we were intruding everywhere, 
for you others press closely around us, and even 
grudge us that little spot upon which we laid our- 
selves down, modest and quiet." 

The Foxglove blushed and looked, in confu- 
sion, with all its flower-bells down to the ground. 



64 



THE STONE. 



The Strawberry-blossom tittered below its three 
green leaves, and the Beach above began to 
rustle. Then the Brook began to fear the old 
quarrel might be renewed, and he said : 

" We are very much obliged to you, gray old 
Man of the Woods, for your narrative, but much 
you owe us yet." 

"What do you wish to know?" asked the 
Stone. 

" What the Fire is about in the interior of the 
Rock, and whether he meekly submits to his im- 
prisonment." 

" As to the latter, not quite," related the Stone ; 
"for though the visits of his sister divert him, though 
he, through her mediation, has the consolation of 
contributing to the fructification of the Earth, yet 
he always hopes in his heart for liberation, perhaps 
even for the dominion over the Earth. But that 
would be a great misfortune ; it would certainly 
be the end of all things. The Water and the Air 
know that quite well, and take care that the Fire 
does not gain too great a power. Where he shows 
himself, there the Air makes her appearance and 
kisses the beloved brother, who, from that kiss, 
blazes forth, more clear, more cheerful and strong- 
er; but she watches also that his heat may be dis- 
persed and not grow too powerful. When she 



THE STONE. 65 

alone cannot subdue him, then the Water must 
come to aid her, and the Fire is again quieted 
after a combat, which is often very noisy. 

'• Then he sits again still in the bosom of the 
Rock, deep at the bottom of the earth, and there 
he devises all sorts of pranks and tricks with which 
to while away the time. First he melted and 
brewed some of the Stone, and then he colored the 
boiled substance with the colors of his robe, purple 
and yellow. That was the Gold. From the Water 
which penetrated to him through the crevices of 
the Rock, he borrowed then the light color, and 
painted the Silver. Sometimes he succeeded even 
in melting off some parts of the reddish-black gar- 
ment of the Rock, his jailer, and he colored with 
it the Iron. Not much blessing rests upon all 
these things, as you can easily imagine. Gold 
and Silver are deceitful things, however much men, 
in their foolishness, dig after them, and the Iron 
which mostly originated at the time when the 
Rock was not very well disposed towards the fer- 
tile Soil round about it, always allows itself to be 
used to turn up and to search the latter ; it is 
and remains a sullen, discontented metal, because 
the Rock contributed to it the colors with anger 
and displeasure. But because the Fire has done 
the greater part to it, the damage which the Iron 



66 



THE STONE. 



does the Soil is not so very great; on the contrary, 
fructifying power is communicated by it to the 
Earth. We Stones, however, do not like to see 
that the kindly Soil is thus lacerated, and when 
the Iron is passing along with full speed, just then 
we jump before it, intercept the stroke, and hurt 
the Iron considerably. 

" When Gold, Silver and Iron were made, the 
Fire got tired of painting always with the same 
colors, and he charged the Air to bring him some 
other ones from the Earth the next time she should 
come. She gathered the Grasses and Flowers, and 
carried them down to him. It is true, she could 
not bring many, but yet, with the green of the 
Grass and with the soft shades of colors that he 
took out of the bouquet which the Air brought 
him, he painted all sorts of chequered little Stones, 
all of which he interwove with his glowing heat. 
Thus it looks very magnificent and glittering in 
the bosoijp of the Earth, which you, perhaps, think 
to be quite black and dreary ; the variegated pre- 
cious Stones glimmer on the walls ; they are the 
flowers of the Depth, the eyes of the Rock. In 
the workshop of the Fire sometimes a little drop 
of paint is spilt, or the Fire wipes his brushes with 
which he has painted the Gold, Silver and precious 
.Stones. Then there originate the glittering ore. 



THE STONE. 67 

the base metals and the spurious Stones, which 
seem to be something and are not, which entice 
and deceive ; the same with which, as the Brook 
told you. Puck built the rainbow." 

" Certainly, we have never seen that the Air 
carries away our sisters," said the Tulip, and in- 
credulous she bowed her head. 

"Because you do not pay attention," said the 
Stone. " For once, observe the evening-red ; there 
those colors are painted in the air, which you at 
other times do not perceive. There is the garment 
of the Rose, the yellow of the Crocus, the blue of 
the Violet, the green of the Grass ; between them 
the fiery red color of the Poppy ; a thousand colors 
that cannot be described in words. Not every 
evening, but now and then you see this wonderful 
mingling, this sundering and dissolving. That is 
a bouquet of Flowers, which the Air holds in her 
hands, to bring it to the Fire. 

" It is true, you see only the brightness of the 
colors, for it is too far for recognizing the sisters 
individually, but if you would have asked your 
heart, you would have known it. You are attract- 
ed powerfully; you all turn you|^ heads towards 
this shining bouquet, for the longing after the part- 
ing sisters draws you towards them, irresistibly 
though unconsciously. You see, with your heart 



68 



THE STONE. 



you have known that long ago. But thus you are, 
you beings of the Earth, men included ; you will 
not believe what you feel, and yet about the best 
that there is upon earth, you will indeed ask your 
understanding in vain; your heart alone can tell 
you that." 

"But what did the Fire do with the bouquet, 
after he had extracted the colors?" asked the 
Forget-me-not. 

" Then he keeps it in the crevices of the Rock, 
colorless, indeed, but shining and imperishable. 
There are the leaves, the stars of the Flowers ; 
there the shining Crystals grow." 

The narrator stopped ; then the Oak asked : 

" Pardon me, if that which I am about to ask 
you, should offend you, but I certainly do not do it 
in order to grieve you, who are so sensible and 
know so much. Look, I am next to you the oldest 
in the Woods, yea, I am called after you ; for on 
account of my age and from my firmness, these 
two virtues which I have in common with you, 
they call me Stone-oak (English Scarlet Oak). 
Thus I have somewhat of a claim on your confi- 
dence. We others here upon the earth, we have a 
destiny, a change, we grow and bloom, we bear 
fruit every one after his kind. You Stones, on the 
contrary, lie always on the same spot, unchanged, 



THE STONE. 69 

always the same. Is not that sad and tiresome 
at the same time ? " 

" You are like men," said the Stone, half smil- 
ing, half touched. Yourselves and your actions 
you consider to be indescribably important, the 
design and the centre of the whole creation. You 
grow, bloom and bear fruit. What do you think 
is gained by that ? You wither, and — are forgot- 
ten. Time passes with his hand over the place 
where you stood, and your trace is obliterated. 
Every individual, whoever it may be, is a drop in 
the vast ocean of nature. Who observes it, except 
each one itself? 

" Who can know for what purpose he exists ? 
I, however, am never in want of pastime, though I 
have lain here now already a long, long time, im- 
movable; for I am very susceptible and observ- 
ing, and everything is changing round about me. 
Many thousands of years have rolled on past me — 
not one day was equal to another. Sometimes I 
make others tell me something from afar, for I lie 
with my ear on the earth, and below the Rock 
there is passing to and fro the secret conversa- 
tion between the Stones who tell each other of 
spots on the earth, where it is exceedingly beauti- 
ful, and which are again, by themselves, a miracle 



70 THE STONE. 

in the great miracle which nature constantly enacts 
with the Earth." 

" Yes," assented the Pine-tree, " there are mag- 
nificent spots on the Earth ; my cousin used to tell 
me so, who, as you know, went far about when he 
was a Mast." 

" O, yes," said the Asp, jeeringly, "to countries 
where there is nothing but Ice and Snow ; where 
your friend, the Winter, never lets go his hold on 
the Earth." 

" Now, in your fickleness, you have again not 
paid attention," replied the Pine, very quietly. 
" Do you not know, from my story that there are 
countries which belong to the Summer, which the 
Winter never touches ; where the Trees are always 
green, where Flowers always embroider the tapes- 
try of the fields, where the Waters never become 
altogether solid with Ice, and where the Snow 
touches the Earth only like a cooling kiss from the 
Clouds?" 

"Ah!" cried many Flowers at the same time 
" that country we should like to see !" 

" I shall see it," said the Brook, not without 
pride, and in his fondness for travelling he jumped 
high up, and purling he flowed faster along. " I 
throw myself into the River, the River flows into 



THE STONE. 71 

the Sea, and thus I contrive to be carried to those 
countries." 

" In the mean time I will tell you about them," 
said the Stone, " for just now I have received in- 
formation about a wonderful, exceeding lovely 
spot on the Earth. In those times, when the 
Water concluded a treaty of peace with the Rock, 
just then it was rocking itself in a lovely Bay, 
and the crowns of the cliffs overlooked it high in 
a circle. That was the favorite spot of the Sea, 
and it sent for the Air to pour out an exuberant 
strength over the borders of the shore. ' Dip your 
foot into my waves, I will cool it for you I ' said 
the Sea to the Rock. ' Your head I will crown 
with Flowers,' said the Air, ' and the Earth shall 
lay a carpet around your knees.' ' And when you 
are so beautiful,' said thereupon the Sea, ' I will 
hold before you a mirror, that you may see your 
own beauty; and your image shall, in its turn, 
adorn my waves.' And thus it was done. 

" In a beautiful semicircle, the Shore swept, ver- 
dant and blooming, around the Sea, and the Rocks 
looked smiling upon it. Now, one day when the 
Air paid a visit to the Fire, she told him about 
this favorite spot of the Water, where it, dreaming, 
passed its most pleasant hours. * Can I not see 



72 THE STONE. 

that too ? ' said the Fire. * Let me talk about it 
to the Rock,' said the Air. 

" The Rock was just then in a particularly good 
humor, and it was, near this Bay, easier to per- 
suade it, on account of the kindness which Water 
and Air had shown it. Thus an adjustment was 
easily brought about. The Rock opened a win- 
dow at the top of a mountain, which was the 
prison of the impatient Fire, and there he can look 
out whenever he chooses. But, in return, the 
Water must allow a Rock to project just from its 
midst, and to look around. Just opposite the Bay 
where the circle opens to let in the Sea, there this 
Rock lies, cool and comfortable, in the Sea, and 
looks on one side down into the Gulf, of which I 
spoke to you ; on the other, it looks out upon the 
infinite space of the Sea. 

" Now, this Rock has told me all these things. 
Opposite to it on the Shore, there is the window 
of the Fire. In the day-time, when the Light is 
resting so clear on the Earth, you see only the 
Smoke which he blows forth like Clouds ; but in 
the night, when the Earth is enveloped in dark- 
ness, then the Fre puts his head of flames out of 
the window, and his glowing eyes shoot lightnings 
through the dakness. He looks quite cheerful 
and merry, and cuts all sorts of capers. Often he 



THE STONE. 73 

nods quite amicably to my friend, the Rock, and 
the latter would nod in acknowledgment, if it had 
not to stand so very fast in the Sea. And when 
the window was opened in the Fire's prison, it 
began to be really beautiful on this Bay. The 
Fire did not mean to see all these beautiful things 
without adding something himself, and he flung 
his Sparks far out upon the Shore. They fell upon 
the green Trees, held fast to the glossy branches, 
and did not die ; no, the Sparks became Fruits, 
red as they darted forth from the Mountain, and 
they retained within the Fire which they carried 
with them. Even now, as the Rock tells me, the 
Sparks grow on the Trees as fiery Oranges. And 
constantly are these fiery Fruits glowing, for as 
the leaves at all times are adorned with a beauti- 
ful dark glowing color, so the Fruits adorn the 
branches from one end of the year to the other." 

" And do they not bear Blossoms, these wonder- 
ful Trees ? " asked the Apple-tree. 

" Certainly, Blossoms white as snow, lovely, and 
spreading sweet odors. But one and the same 
branch bears Fruits and Blossoms, and the sweet- 
ness of the Flowers' fragrance is mixed with the 
glow of the Fruit. One place before all others on 
this shore is most richly adorned with this glowing 
Fruit. There the Rocks come forth close to the 
6 



74 THE STONE. 

Sea, and wear on their head the adornment of the 
Orange-grove, interwoven with the net of long- 
waving Vines. 

" The Flames of the Mountain look across, and 
rejoice at their gifts. The Sea murmurs and hums 
wonderful songs on the Beach, and hems its robe 
with white Foam. Every evening, when the Air 
paints the evening-red, she dresses the high Kock 
in light rose-colored garments, that it looks down 
like the blushing bride of the Sea. Every night 
the Fire adorns his Mountain with glittering rib- 
bons, which he lets hang down from it, ribbons, on 
golden ground, embroidered with fiery precious 
stones. Then the Flames of the Fire and the 
Waves of the Water play with each other. The 
red Glare hides itself in the Waves, and then looks 
out again here and there, broken by the trembling 
of the Billows. 

" All this, my friend, the Rock, sees, who himself 
is adorned with Vines, who himself has put on his 
green cap a bouquet of Oranges, and for a plume 
a wafting Palm-tree. The Turf wove the wreath 
around his head, and the indented Aloe and the 
prickly Cactus fastened it for him on his brow. 
He sees all this ; and as he has taken a fancy to 
the brothers and their sister, to the Fire, Air, and 
Water, and as he is indebted to them for so many 



THE STONE. 75 

enjoyments, be wished also to afford them a pleas- 
ure, and he built them a cosy place for their affec- 
tionate meetings. At the farthest edge of the 
Rock, nearly touching the surface of the Water, 
there opens a low archway. You would hardly 
detect it. Behind this gate there is extending a 
high, strongly arched, cool Cave. Here the Water, 
Air, and Fire meet with each other. Here they 
are together, separate indeed, but yet combined. 

" It is true, there the mirror of the Water is 
flowing and wafting, but the deep blue of the Air, 
such as it shows itself only in the clearest sky, has 
penetrated it, and the shining Glare of the Fire 
darts from below, glistening and wonderful. It is 
true, a Glimmer breaks forth from the depth like 
flickering Flames, but the Glare, too, has been 
tinged with the color of the Air; this Light, too, is 
wafting like the waves of the Water. It is true, 
the Air fills the vast vault of the Cave, but it 
glitters like the Water, it floats around on high, as 
the Waves do below, and between them the little 
Flames of the Fire play and lick at the arch of the 
Rock. ' There the Elements hold their secret con- 
verse, but sometimes they allow Man to listen to 
them. He builds himself a skiff, steers into this 
wondrous place, and can navigate on the blue Air, 
bathe in the shining Fire, and breathe in the 



76 THE STONE. 

wafting Water. Only when the colloquy of the 
brothers and their sister is intended to be very 
confidential and secret, then they do not admit the 
listener, then the Sea shuts the entrance with a 
gate of Waves, and the Air pushes the Winds 
before it as bolts. What miraculous things then 
are going on there, this is known to the Elements 
alone, and to my friend, the Rock, who encom- 
passes them ; but he has pledged his word not to 
divulge it, and he keeps his promise." 

" He is right in doing so," said the Rose; "I 
love him for it. Does he love the Flowers too?" 

" An eternal Spring of Roses is blooming around 
him," said the Stone. 

"That must be beautiful!" sighed the Centi- 
folia. 

" And all this I shall see !" rejoiced the Brook. 

" Then greet the Roses on the Rock from us!" 
cried the Flowers. 

" And the Oranges on the Sea-shore from us ! " 
rustled the Trees. 

" How shall I recognize the place ? " asked the 
Brook from the Stone. 

" From my story," was the answer. " Men call 
it the Gulf of Naples ; and my friend, the Rock in 
the Sea, is called Capri, in their language." 



THE STONE. 77 

" I think I shall find it," replied the Brook ; and, 
prattling, he went along. ♦ 

But the Brook had a long, long way to travel. 
A long time he was wandering about in the im- 
measurable space of the Sea, before the wonders, 
of which the Stone had related, made their ap- 
pearance. 

The narrator of this story was just standing at 
Sorento, on the loggia of a small villa on the sea- 
shore, which he inhabited alone. The vines which 
overshadowed it were yet thin, and allowed the 
full light of the Sun to pass through, but the 
Orange-blossoms shed their odor and the fruits 
smiled on him, and were blinking from among the 
dark leaves. Vesuvius was sending forth his 
smoke, and the Sea was talkative. At that mo- 
ment a Wave struck against the Rock, with a 
well-known sound. It brought from home the 
greetings of the Flowers and of the Trees. The 
Brook had fulfilled his commission. For the 
Flowers and Trees he brought salutations ; but 
for the narrator he brought nothing from his dear- 
ly beloved ones. 



THE POET. 



Accept, then, these dreams of some beautiful 
hours, during which I found in a fantasy the solu- 
tion of the riddle of Nature, during which the 
world itself was to me nothing but a fantasy. It 
was no deception ! Ask the verdant grove your- 
selves. It tells, in a thousand sounds, the same 
that I related. I rendered it in my heart's reflec- 
tion, and thus it had to be a fantasy indeed ; for 
the Poet's heart itself is but a fantasy. 

It is a fantasy which developed many a blossom ; 
which has its spring and its winter time, and 
from which many a source mysteriously flowed 
like the Brook of the forest, dedicated to grief. 
Then just as the violet's bud bursts, being awa- 
kened in Spring by the power of ardent desires, 
just so a wishful mystery came to light, deeply felt 
and yet not understood, — the heart's vernal off- 
spring, first love. 



THE POET. 79 

Oh, my life's golden, poetical blossom ! Oh, my 
soul's enchanting spring-time ! When the world 
was glowing before me in its richest attire, when 
it bore only one, and was yet so full, so wide ; 
when I believed with devotion, in words never ut- 
tered, and trembled for fear of divulging my sweet 
secret, — Oh, fleeting happiness! how quickly wast 
thou snatched away from me ! Thus the violet 
soon bows its fragrant head, ere yet the roses are 
broken off in the storm. 

And again, like a wonderful tale, brought down 
from olden times, the daring charms of the Stu- 
dent's years entwined themselves in the fantastical 
interior of my heart. How full was the bosom of 
desire for friendship, how undivided was the hear 
inge away. Wine, songs, the clear sound of ra-t 
piers, youthful courage, and youthful hope wound 
then the fragrant ivy-wreath around my life. 

My Heidelberg ! Oh, ye ruins so green with 
ivy, upon whose terrace I was standing, so happy! 
How did the world then, in the splendor of Spring, 
appear to me quite as blooming as the wide land- 
space all around! The sweet illusion of fantasy 
has vanished ; yet thou, Memory, animated by the 
breath of friendship, entwine thy green ivy-vines 
with renewed life, from my bosom over into others, 
from those times over into my latest days! 



80 THE POET. 

Again the heart offers me another dream. Joy, 
as well as grief, the heart has vented in the al- 
ways living source of song, like the Forest-brook 
w^hom tears nourish. And the latter as well as the 
former you see wandering along ; now quiet, con- 
cealed under a mossy cover, now caressing the 
flowers which bloom around the banks, now whis- 
pering to the verdure of the reed, now foaming, 
free, in wanton fulness. 

What a sweet source of happiness is it in dark, 
overclouded days, now mournfully to vent in the 
rhymes of a song what weighs so heavily on the 
heart, and of which it is so full, and at other times 
to shake it off in sprightly pleasantry! Oh, golden 
illusion of this double life I how often hast thou, 
soaring free on high, carried me over into other 
worlds, into the fairy-land of Thought, away from 
the disagreeably narrow limits of Reality. 

And I told you of the Stone which lies there on 
the ground in my own country, so mute and im- 
movable, and which, deep in its core, yet bears so 
pleasant news from the distant wonders of other 
countries. Just so the Poet's heart has often "been 
Tying silent at the bosom of the dear fatherland. 
Then it felt unconsciously arise within, like a 
fantasy, a desire to wander about, a wish to travel, 
a longing desire for distant scenes. 



THE POET. 81 

Then he was urged on, he was carried far away; 
the joyful pulsations of the heart greeted the south- 
ern clime. Yet the image of his beloved ones 
remains with him; homesickness follows him into 
distant lands. Half he is urged to go away, half 
he is held back ; a blissful faint-heartedness allures 
him to linger yet. Alas ! the moment is too beau- 
tiful for parting. Thus the unshackled and agi- 
tated happiness of rambling about must divide the 
Poet's heart between joy and longing desire. 

Enough — the Poet must close these Leaves 
with them also his heart. The curtain falls. He 
let the wonders of the Woods rise up around you, 
and allowed you to look into the fantastic world in 
his bosom. You that have received it in exchange 
for the pulsations of the heart, to you he always 
dedicates the best of his fantasies ; but you that 
have listened and have smiled incredulously, think 
that the Forest never has rustling told any won- 
derful stories, and forget what the Poet has re- 
vealed to you. 



SECOND LEAF 



ORIGINAL COMPOSITIONS. 



RELIGION OR LOVE. 



This little piece was written -when the author lived in a Catholic 
country, where the priests were very zealous to prevent any one 
from marrying a Protestant on terms of equality. Since he, as a 
Protestant teacher especially, could not have married a Catholic 
lady, if he had wished to do so, aod since he saw, in a few 
families, the evil consequences of such a religious intolerance, 
he wished, by the following story, to give vent to his feelings 
about the unreasonable and fatal demands of the priesthood. 

Many, many years ago, there lived in the Orient 
a youth, with the name of Timur. He was in the 
full bldom of growing manhood, where the mind is 
so susceptible for everything sublime, where the 
heart is so wide for everything beautiful. Thus all 
things grand and lovely made also upon him the 
deepest impression. With the most heartfelt love 
did he embrace the whole human race ; the whole 
nature seemed to smile on him and gladdened his 
heart, which was open to the most blissful emo- 
tions. Often did he ramble about solitary, be- 



86 RELIGION OR LOVE. 

tween meadows and gardens, in the fields and in 
the woods ; every cheerful chirping of the birds on 
the boughs, every pearl of dew on the nodding 
blade of grass, every expanding variegated blossom 
that met his eye, put him into a rapture of admi- 
ration. 

Once, during one of these rambles, he passed by 
a garden, and accidentally he glanced over the 
enclosure to look at the objects within. The gar- 
den was full of the most splendid flowers, and 
Timur's eye was gladdened by the beautiful as- 
pect of this assemblage of blooming plants, which 
was apparently so well taken care of. Soon, how- 
ever, one single one among the flowers riveted his 
attention ; it was an exceedingly beautiful Rose, 
which was standing not very far off. The full 
buds had just then opened, and were shining, with 
the softest and most lovely tints, in the full lustre 
of the first bloom. A sweet odor arose from out 
its expanded disk, and filled the air around with a 
balmy fragrance. 

Timur was standing there a long time, absorbed 
in gazing upon this magnificent flower; so beauti- 
ful, so fragrant it seemed to him, he had never 
seen a Rose before. Fain he would have approach- 
ed it nearer, the better to enjoy its aspect and its 
fragrance, but he found the gate of the garden 



RELIGION OR LOVE. 87 

locked. After a long pensive contenaplation, at 
last he turned away in order to forget this occur- 
rence in the busy hum of every-day life. But his 
soul's tranquillity was lost; his imagination was 
filled with nothing but images of his Rose ; a 
powerful charm seemed to have encircled him, so 
that his whole heart clung to this flower, and that 
it seemed to him he could not live without it. 

The next morning found him again at the en- 
closure. And behold, now the Rose had turned 
its head exactly towards the side where he stood, 
as though it nodded to him, friendly bidding him 
welcome. The trembling rays of the morning sun 
fell upon its full blossom, so that a soft blush 
seemed to be spreading over it when Timur 
appeared, and two glittering dew-drops were lying 
on the edge of its petals. What could they mean ? 
Were they tears of joy or of sorrow ? 

Timur was standing there, as if bound to the 
spot by a charm. At last, when the sun had 
already traversed a great part of his daily course, 
the enchanted youth made a violent effort, and 
with a sudden resolution he turned round, and 
withdrew. Not forever though. The spell yet 
bound and ruled his heart and senses, and every 
morning and every evening he hastened to his 
beloved Rose. 



88 RELIGION OR LOVE. 

The owner of the garden had observed this. He 
was an old man, with venerable silvery hair and a 
deeply furrowed, thoughtful brow ; but he was full 
of artifice and cunning. One evening he stepped 
forth from his summer-house, walked towards 
Timur, and asked him, " What are you gazing at, 
and what do you muse about ? " Timur raised 
his eyes, overshadowed by melancholy and longing 
feelings, and said, " Oh, father, give me this Rose ; 
it must be mine ; my heart is clinging to it." The 
old man shook his head and answered, " No, I 
cannot give you this Rose ; not a single flower is 
to be given away out of my garden." " Oh, Sir," 
sighed Timur, " my soul is bound up in it ; give it 
to me, else I die for ardent desire." " If the flower 
is really so dear to you," replied the old man, 
" then I can give you only one advice. I am just 
now about to enlarge my garden, and I am in 
want of assistance. Now be you my servant, then 
you can be continually in the garden. I will make 
you a present of the Rose, and so you can nurse 
and cherish it to your heart's desire. I give you 
time to consider it." And forthwith the old man 
retired, and left Timur to commune with his own 
thoughts. 

Timur also went away, but an inexpressible 
misery now overwhelmed him, and oppressed his 



RELIGION OR LOVE. 89 

heart. The Rose was to be awarded to him, but 
only when lie forfeited his liberty, and this had 
always in his sight been the inalienable, the dear- 
est, the most sacred right of man. Alas, what a 
conflict, what a tempest was now raging in his 
poor heart, which was lacerated and tortm-ed by 
the most discordant feelings. 

Long and violent was the combat, but at last 
that feeling which the Creator has planted as a 
fundamental principle in every noble soul, over- 
came the charm which had held his heart encircled 
by its magic influence. Love of liberty was the 
conqueror, and never did Timur see his Rose 
again. The spell, however, was not altogether 
broken. A never-ceasing, ardent desire, firmly en- 
shrined and concealed in his bosom, slowly con- 
sumed his vital power ; sad and melancholy, he 
wandered about in his father's garden. 

His father was rich, and their garden was so 
beautiful, that it seemed to be a terrestrial para- 
dise. ■ But all the hosts of beautiful flowers that 
were blooming there in the most brilliant colors 
and in the softest tints, and which gladdened the 
heart of every beholder, all these lovely beings had 
no beauty in the sight of one : to Timur they were 
as though they did not exist. 

And even before Autumn was approaching, the 
6 



90 RELIGION OR LOVE. 

beloved Rose also pined away. The gardener saw 
that it was drooping, and he nursed^it with the 
greatest care, and to the best of his knowledge. 
But alas ! he did not know that all his endeavors 
could be of no avail. There was a worm gnawing 
at its root, and it sapped its core, so that there 
could be no hope of restoring it to its former 
healthfulness. 

And when the Rose had dropped its head, never 
to raise it again, then Timur's sorrowing heart also 
ceased to beat. With mourning he was borne to 
his last place of rest, and many were the tears that 
fell upon the grave which had opened itself too 
early, to receive the earthly habiliment of a soul 
which was so capable and so worthy of enjoying 
for a long time the wonders of this beautiful, mag- 
nificent and enchanting earth. 



A PARABLE. 



A KIND and loving father sent his son far beyond 
the sea, into a distant country, where there was 
the greatest prospect that he might gain a large 
amount of wealth, dignity and honor. He recom- 
mended him warmly to one of his friends, who 
was living there, and when the youth safely landed 
on the distant shore, he was most cordially receiv- 
ed and welcomed by his father's friend. Like a 
second father, the latter did for him all that was in 
his power ; he let him learn the language of the 
country, made him acquainted with the institu- 
tions and the customs of the nation, and gave him 
all other information that might be necessary or 
useful. 

Having thus fitted out his protegee, he allowed 
and caused him to depend upon his own resources 
and exertions, and, kindly admonishing him and 
giving him his blessing, he let the youth depart 
from his house, that he might seek his fortune for 



92 



A PARABLE. 



himself. The young man travelled thereupon 
through several parts of the country ; he heard and 
saw a great many new things, and he became ac- 
quainted with a vast number of persons. Nobody, 
however, was to be found that showed an inclina- 
tion to assist him effectually in acquiring wealth ; 
everybody seemed to care only for himself, and the 
most of them seemed to have difficulty enough in 
procuring what was necessary to satisfy their own 
wants. 

Saddened in his heart by this experience, he 
was once wandering through a wild and lonely 
mountain region. He was thinking about his fate 
and his prospects, and he was just saying to him- 
self: "I am sure my father is wise and kind-heart- 
ed, therefore he never would have sent me hither, 
if he had not known that it would serve to make 
me happy !" Behold, then, all at once, something 
glittered before him on the ground. He stooped, 
and picked up a very valuable precious stone ; 
and, comforted, he went further on his way. 

After having travelled another day among the 
mountains, alone, but with a confiding heart, he 
met an old man, by whom he was accosted thus : 
" Young man, when I entered into this deserted 
mountain path, I had but very little means to pro- 
vide myself with food. Please share with me the 



A PARABLE. 



93 



provisions you have, otherwise I must live on ber- 
ries and wild roots." The youth had not much 
left, himself, and was hardly sure of reaching the 
habitations of men before he might have consumed 
the residue ; but without hesitating a moment, he 
followed the prompting of his noble heart, and 
shared with the old man the little he had in his 
possession. 

Then the man's features began to beam with 
joy and delight, and he said : " O, you generous 
and kind-hearted youth! I only put you to the 
test. I am not so poor as I pretended to be. I 
only wished to see whether you would be noble- 
hearted enough to assist and succor the destitute, 
when you had no hopes of being recompensed, or 
when you were even in danger of exposing your- 
self to necessity by comforting the needy. As a 
reward accept this diamond ; it has an immense 
value." 

They parted, and the youth soon afterwards ar- 
rived in a large city. Here he found an employ- 
ment which suited his capacity and his inclination. 
He was faithful and diligent in discharging the 
duties which devolved upon him, and thus he was 
not only respected as an honorable and trustworthy 
man, but he also reaped, in the length of time, 



94 



A PARABLE. 



considerable pecuniary advantages from his occu- 
pation. 

His father had heard about his success, and was 
well acquainted with his sterling character. So 
he longed to see him again, and to reward him for 
having hitherto spent his life in so good a way. 
Therefore he invited his beloved son to return 
home, and to settle in the place where the home of 
his childhood was, and where he might dwell with 
those that were dearest to his heart. The dutiful 
son gladly complied with his father's wish ; he ex- 
changed his property for another precious stone, 
and thus he departed with his three valuable jewels 
to return to his fatherland. Having arrived there 
in safety, he sunk into the open arms of his loving 
father, and led afterwards a life full of joy and 
angelic peace and beatitude. 

We men resemble this youth. Our heavenly 
Father sends us upon this earth, that we may 
gain spiritual treasures. Our parents guide us 
with a loving hand, until we, bodily and mentally, 
are sufficiently strong to depend upon ourselves, in 
order to gain for us heavenly treasures. Three 
precious stones there are which we must try, with 
all our energy, to get possession of. The first, 
which we can acquire as well in sorrowful as in 



A PARABLE. 95 

joyful days, is Faith, — a belief in God, virtue, and 
immortality. The second is the fulfilment of the 
law, CharitTj, — which is ours, if we work for the 
welfare of our fellow-creatures and seek not only 
our own. When we have gained these two jewels, 
then the third cannot fail to fall to our lot : it is 
Hope, — which leads us quietly and softly over into 
the land beyond the grave. Being in possession 
of these treasures, we are sure to meet with a kind 
reception in our heavenly home, where there will 
be joy, peace, and happiness for ever and ever. 



THE FOUR SEASO^YS IN MAN'S LIFE. 



Human Life has been an inexhaustible source of 
comparisons, in ancient and in modern times, and 
has been represented by the most various images 
and figures, as well in its single periods as in its 
duration on the whole ; considered from its sunny 
as well as from its shady side ; either in regard to 
its tendency and principal object, or in regard to 
incident and minor circumstances. 

In its periods it has been very happily compared 
to the parts of the day and of the year. These 
two comparisons, especially the latter, are very 
prolific sources for contemplation. The Seasons, 
as the main divisions of the year, can be traced in 
the life of man, in their succession, in their ap- 
pearance and symptoms, and in their influence and 
results. 

The four Seasons form a whole, form one single 
round, in which Nature runs through a circle of 
development, progress, and decay. The Spring is 



97 



justly considered to be the beginning of this round, 
because it is the time of awakening and originat- 
ing life ; the Spring therefore is, in regard to Na- 
ture, the first season of the year. When the Spring 
approaches, then everything around us is roused 
from its long Winter-sleep ; the hidden germs de- 
velop themselves in a wonderful, incomprehensible 
way ; new and young life springs forth every- 
where. The silent, leafless forest clothes itself in 
light verdure; its hallowed vaults resound again 
with the sweet melodies of the songsters, which 
were silent so long a time ; the fields are adorned 
with thriving crops ; the meadows are covered with 
a magnificent tapestry of glittering and fragrant 
flowers. Wherever there is a fertile spot, there 
life is stirring, there is at least a little blade of 
grass growing, or a tiny, tender moss. There are 
very few places where the mother earth and all the 
powers of nature have tried in vain to produce 
new life ; very few there are of that kind, in com- 
parison with the fertile ones. New life is thus 
germinating everywhere, for the benefit and the 
enjoyment of all living beings. 

However, we must not overlook the fact, that a 
great many weeds spring up and grow interspersed 
with all these useful things, and that they must be 
suppressed or destroyed, so that the other plants 



may not be spoiled or stunted. Above all these 
things, with which the Spring surrounds us, a clear 
blue sky is expanding; thunder-storms are a rare 
occurrence ; they trouble only seldom yet the har- 
mony which reigns over the whole Nature. 

Such is the Spring in the physical world ; such 
it is also figuratively in human life. It is true, 
when Nature at present begins its round with the 
Spring, it does only what it has done frequently 
before, and man, when he begins the course of his 
life with his Spring, with his childhood and youth, 
enjoys his vernal season for the first time. The 
comparison holds good, nevertheless ; the preceding 
Spring is only connected with the following one, 
inasmuch as it furnishes the germs and other 
means which make it possible that new life should 
appear in the latter. Thus the young human be- 
ing, and the young physical world, receive from 
the past nothing except the possibility of their ex- 
istence, and some means for further development. 

This development is in man quite of the same 
character, as we observe it to be in Nature. Weak 
and tender are the buds when they first show them- 
selves, but ere youth, the spring-time of life, has 
passed away, they are developed. There every- 
thing is growing, everything is expanding. The 
soul manifests itself in the beginning almost im- 



99 



perceptibly by sensation, then by perception and 
observation, and thus the field for spontaneity and 
activity is opened, and more and more enlarged ; 
one feeling, one conception, one wish, after the 
other are perceptible. 

The body also gradually develops itself, and 
proves to ba the crowning piece of the whole ma- 
terial creation, worthy of being the dwelling and 
the instrument of the spirit. Who would be able 
to count them up, all those manifestations of the 
soul, and all those actions which the body is capa- 
ble of performing in the soul's service ! The great- 
est variety is to be found here, as well as in Nature, 
and here, too, almost every spot, so to say, is made 
use of. In the bodily system every particle has its 
definite use ; all the mental faculties can be ap- 
plied to some purpose or other. It is true, to the 
lot of one man there has fallen a greater share of 
mental power and universality, and of bodily en- 
dowments, than to that of another; yea, many 
seem to be very scantily provided for by Nature's 
busily working hand, yet there is almost always 
susceptibility to some extent, and the youth of 
almost every human being presents a wide field 
for development. 

Upon this field, however, just as well as upon 
that of Nature, we discover some weeds which are 



apt to luxuriate, if they are not carefully kept down 
or, if possible, rooted out. They may do a great 
deal of damage, if they are not soon discovered 
and attended to. The heavenly vault in Nature 
we find to be the type of fate in human life; youth 
is like Spring. Many a poet already has sung of 
the rosy days of childhood, of the years of peace 
and harmlessness ; where a father's and a mother's 
love watched over us ; where fancy adorned the 
chambers of our mind with the most beautiful 
pictures ; where the passions were not yet un- 
chained; where roaring thunder-storms very sel- 
dom swept destroying over our pathway. 

The youth of nature and of man present such 
a charming picture, that we fain would cling to 
them, if not forever, at least for a long, long time. 
But the Ruler of the universe has willed it to be 
otherwise ; the germ develops itself steadily, and it 
is not long before the full-grown plant is there 
before us. The Spring is followed by the Summer. 
The latter shows us Nature in quite a difterent gar- 
ment. We now look in vain for the former mild 
and pleasant sky above us ; the scorching rays of 
the sun exhaust the succulence of the growing 
vegetation, and overpowering heat presses down 
the dweller upon earth ; black thunder-clouds rise 
above the horizon, forked lightnings dart through 



THE FOUR SEASONS IN MAN's LIFE. 101 

the sky, and the thunder is rolling over our heads, 
and the hurricane throws down whatever it meets 
in its way. The vegetation is changed. The light 
green of the woods has turned darker by degrees, 
and has now quite a serious aspect ; the buds have 
been opened long ago ; yea, the blossoms have 
already for the greater part died away, and have 
made room for the less fragrant and less beau- 
tiful, but more substantial fruit ; the growing crops 
have reached their state of maturity, have turned 
into waving cornfields, and invite us to begin the 
merry harvest-time. Thus is the Summer, on the 
whole, the time of maturity, where everything 
seems to remind us of more grave and serious 
things, where the ends ♦and purposes of the de- 
veloped beings begin to be visible. 

If we now look upon manhood, the Summer 
of life, we find similar phenomena. The harmless 
days of childhood and youth have passed away. 
Man has entered into social and political relations, 
and must try to accommodate his own actions to 
those of others, and it happens frequently that one 
or the other clash is the cause of some growing 
misunderstanding and strife. Besides, the smiling, 
innocent images that were flitting before the child's 
soul, have mostly vanished, and their place is filled 
by desires which partly are turned towards low 



worldly objects, desires which violently agitate the 
heart, and which carry us headlong into pernicious 
actions, if we do not prevent them from becoming 
unbridled passions. 

However, this is not the whole picture of the 
years of manhood, otherwise it would be a very 
gloomy one ; manhood is also the time for the full 
enjoyment of our power of action. The time of 
preparatory development has preceded it, and all 
the faculties and powers of the mind and of the 
body show themselves now in greater significance, 
in more momentous activity ; just as the Summer 
spreads out before the reaper a large harvest-field, 
so manhood brings the developed faculties of man 
into effective operation. Every one is then work- 
ing for his own benefit, and for that of his fellow- 
creatures. 

From these years man passes gradually over 
into old age, so as in Nature the Autumn gradually 
enters into the dominion which the Summer quits. 
The Autumn is the real time for gathering fruit. 
What the two preceding seasons have formed, 
appears now in its intended perfection ; what 
Spring and Summer have been working, that is all 
falling to the lot of Autumn, and the wealth of the 
latter depends upon the degree of generative and 
developing power of the former. If there has been 



a decided failure in the growth of plants, then the 
Autumn brings no fruit, or at least only some of 
inferior quality. This is, however, very rarely the 
case. The crops are generally tolerably good, often 
even abundant. 

Now, when the time of fruit-gathering has 
come, all hands are busy; the garners are filled 
with costly stores, and man expects now in tran- 
quillity to enjoy the fruit of his labor. He looks 
with confidence forward to the Winter, for before 
this season arrives he has enjoyed and consumed 
but little yet of his gathered fruit, and he knows 
that he will have plenty left to cheer and to com- 
fort him during the coming time of Winter. 

These material results has the Autumn for 
man, but other phenomena does this season bring 
with it too. We find no more on the fields the 
shining fragrant, flowery robe of Spring, nor the 
swelling plenty of Summer; the woods lose their 
verdure, and change their color into tints which 
are quite beautiful, but yet remind us of approach- 
ing decay. Everything gradually begins to appear 
as " growing old and withered." But one thing is 
most delightful ; the heat of the Summer has sub- 
sided, and the sun no more sends down his scorch- 
ing rays. The atmosphere has become soft and 
balmy, and the whole nature makes upon us an 



104 



impression of tranquillity, calmness and repose. 
We ourselves are partly enjoying very pleasant 
and beneficial sensations, but at the same time 
overcome by a melancholy feeling produced by the 
knowledge that this season soon will end. Some- 
times already a chilling north wind, or a dense, 
disagreeable fog appears as a messenger of the ap- 
proaching Winter. 

The Autumn on the earth finds its parallel in 
the old age of man. It is true, religion and psy- 
chology teach us that man cannot attain the high- 
est perfection here on earth ; that he mast, during 
his whole life, persevere in trying to develop his 
faculties ; that there is no coming to a stand. Yet, 
in comparison to youth and manhood, we may 
justly call old age the Autumn of life, for we find it 
to be the time, where the body has reached, or even 
surpassed, its highest degree of perfection ; the 
time, w^here the mind is more developed than ever 
before ; the time where much fruit is gathered from 
the seed that was planted in earlier days. 

In old age, too, the amount of wisdom and vir- 
tue depends on the vital power and energy of for- 
mer years. So as on the earth a total failure is a 
rare occurrence, thus happily a total corruption 
and depravity of man in all his parts and faculties 
is very seldom met with ; and if we do not look 



THE FOUR SEASONS IN MAN's LIFE. 105 

upon mankind through the disfiguring spectacles 
of the misanthrope, we shall find that most persons 
have attained to a tolerable degree of mental and 
social culture, that many even, adorned with wis- 
dom and virtue, shine forth from among the crowd 
as stars of first magnitude. To which of these 
classes a man belongs, according to this, a smaller 
or larger harvest-field will be spreading before him 
in his old age. If he has employed the years of 
his youth and manhood well in every respect, then 
he will possess in his old age a great amount of 
useful knowledge, a high degree of morality and 
religiousness, and also a sufficiency of worldly 
property. And of all this he can now enjoy the 
advantages ; he can employ all his property and 
all his acquirements for his own benefit, and for 
the welfare of his fellow-creatures. 

This is, however, not a complete picture of old 
age. As the Autumn is exempt from the scorch- 
ing heat of Summer, thus old age is no more dis- 
turbed by the glowing desires of youth and 
manhood ; those storm-like passions have long 
since died in his breast, and everything is taking a 
more quiet and serious course. As in Autumn, 
forest and field lose their verdure, so the old man's 
hair is bleaching, and at last only a few silvery 
locks adorn his temples. The whole body shows 
7 



106 THE FOUR SEASONS IN MAN's LIFE. 

some signs that its progressing development is 
stopped ; the elasticity and the strength of the 
limbs begin to decrease, the erect position is chang- 
ing into a stooping one, the step begins to be 
wavering — all this is but too clear a proof that the 
dissolution is not far. 

The circle of Nature is closed by the Winter. 
When this season commences, then every sign of 
activity disappears ; Nature is lying down to enjoy 
its winter sleep, and to rest after the exertions of 
the past seasons. All around we meet the looks of 
death. The forest is standing there in its gloomi- 
ness ; the trees are deprived of their beautiful 
foliage; the choristers, that were singing and rock- 
ing themselves on their boughs, have fled to a 
more congenial clime ; meadows and fields are 
bare and deserted, and the wide plains are covered 
with one large snowy shroud ; the icy, chilling 
north winds are sweeping over them, and turn 
even the water into one solid, immovable mass. 

Nevertheless, if Nature now does not show in 
any way its vital and generative powers, these are, 
for all that, not entirely destroyed ; they are only 
dormant ; they only rest, in order to gain new 
energy for the work which they have to commence 
again. Thus Nature fulfils its circular course, and 
soon it will commence its round anew, and awake 



107 



the earth to renewed life. And this it will do over 
and over again ; for while the earth remaineth, 
seed-time and harvest, and cold and heat, and sum- 
mer and winter, and day and night, shall not cease. 
They shall continue until the Ruler of the universe 
commands the wheels of the great clock-work of 
the world to stand still, — until He who can create 
suns and destroy them, shall make a new heaven 
and a new earth, more glorious than those before 
them. 

The winter of human life is — Death. The vital 
spark, which was burning more and more dimly, 
at last is extinguished. Like the icy winds of the 
Winter, the cold breath of Death has laid the old 
sire low, has benumbed the motive-power in his 
body ; the eye has lost its lustre ; paleness covers 
the cheeks ; and silenced is the mouth, from which 
not long ago the wisest precepts, a gathering of 
many a year's experience, were flowing. Those 
busy hands are no more stirring; in fine, every 
sign of activity has disappeared. The corpse is 
wrapped in the shroud, is deposited in its last place 
of repose, and given up to corruption. 

But not the whole of man is carried into the 
grave. Just as the physical, organic world dies 
only externally, and as its internal, vital power re- 
mains, thus only the external, physical part of man 



lOS THE FOUR SEASONS IN MAN's LIFE. 

dies ; the better part, the spirit, is not destroyed. 
The empire of reason finds here its boundary, and 
Faith enters here into the rights of government. 
Faith is our comforter during life ; it teaches us 
calmly to meet death. We believe that God will 
not annihilate our soul. 

Now here is a slight difference between man and 
the natural world. We do not believe that the 
former, or rather his spirit, will live anew, and go 
through just such a round of human life, clothed, 
perhaps, with another earthly body ; no, we believe 
that the spirit returns to God who gave it, and 
that it goes over into eternal life. But our faith 
also tells us " that our works follow us." Whether 
a man has provisions enough to live comfortably, 
and to get through a long and severe winter, 
depends on the way in which he has spent the 
spring, summer and autumn ; where he ought to 
have sown good seed, ought to have attended 
to facilitating its growth, and ought carefully to 
have gathered the ripe fruit. Thus we believe that 
the blissfulness of eternal life depends upon the 
manner in which we have made use of our earthly 
days ; whether we have tried to develop all those 
faculties with which nature has endowed us, and 
whether we have endeavored to wind round our 
head a wreath of flowers composed of tokens of 



love and gratitude, given to us by those who have 
experienced justice, kindness and benevolence at 
our hands. He only who has diligently tried to do 
so, can with confidence look forward towards the 
winter of his life; he can look steadfastly into the 
face of death ; he need not regret parting from the 
earth. No, with gladness does he lay down his 
head upon his dying couch ; he rejoices at the 
prospect of going over into a better land, where he 
no more will be oppressed by earthly fetters, where 
he will acquire higher wisdom and beatitude, 
where he will receive an imperishable crown of 
glory ! . 



GERMANY IN THE SPRING OF 1848. 

A VISION: 

WHICH THE LAST FIVE YEARS HAVE PROVED TO BE BUT A VISION. 



Wildly foaming and powerful is the stream of 
Time dashing along ; between rocks and through 
ravines it seeks its way ; sunken rocks are bristling 
below its surface, and whirlpools, deeper than 
Scylla and Charybdis, are girding its shores. On 
the current there is floating a vessel ; the unshac- 
kled winds howl in its rigging, and threaten every 
moment to tear the sails into pieces ; high on the 
top of the mast the black-red-golden streamer is 
lashed by the storm ; at the bow, the figure of 
Germania is standing, dipping her feet into the 
angry waves. And all the sons of the brave Ar- 
menius have entrusted themselves to this vessel. 

Who is at the helm, to guide the vessel with 
those confided to it? When the river was yet 
flowing along smooth like a mirror, and when 



GERMANY IN THE SPRING OF 1848. HI 

there was no air stirring, Oh, then all was so quiet 
and calm on board ; the sons of Arminius were 
sleeping, and their guardian, an old man, bent 
with age, held the helm in his hand and guided 
the vessel just as he liked, assisted by a crew 
which was blindly submitting to his commands. 
He rejoiced at the voyage, which seemed so free 
from danger ; he treated himself to all the good 
things which his pupils had taken on board. 
Sometimes, for pleasure's sake, did he again 
ascend the river for some distance, and he was not 
at all grieved at seeing that other vessels, without 
deviating in the least from their course, were steer- 
ing directly towards the end of their journey, and 
that they, and not his protegees, gained the prize 
which was beckoning to them to hurry on. The 
truth was, that he was afraid he would have done 
acting his part, if he should bring his pupils to the 
place they were bound for; he did not have the 
confidence, that he, as a faithful Mentor, would 
even then be welcome to them as a dear friend, as 
an experienced counsellor, and valuable assistant. 
He thought, therefore : " Let us glide down as 
slow as we can, that we may enjoy everything 
that is nice and good, as long as possible." 

But now? what shall now become of them? 
The howling of the storm has startled the Teutons 



112 GERMANY IN THE SPRING OF 1848. 

out of their sweet repose ; they arise, and look 
around, and — what do they behold? Alas! how 
cruelly have they been deceived ! Confiding in 
their honored guide, they had laid themselves down 
to sleep, firmly believing and hoping that he would 
conduct them safely and quickly, and would awake 
them at the goal, with the glad tidings : '• You are 
there ; my work is done. Receive the last fruit of 
my cares !" And now they see far, far off, the last 
vessels already approaching the port ; they have 
passed the cliffs and eddies, and they are sure, by 
one skilful manoeuvre, to reach the harbor in safety. 
And where are they themselves ? 

Really, in such a situation a coward would have 
been prostrated by a paralyzing terror. However, 
not envy, not anguish, not discouragement, is the 
first feeling that seizes upon the awakened sons of 
the hero ; but, gnashing with their teeth, they cast, 
all in the same moment, their eyes upon the helms- 
man, and without wanting a moment for determin- 
ing upon a preconcerted action, they rush towards 
him like one man, and snatch the helm from his 
hand. 

The crew, conscious of the way they had acted, 
and shrinking before the suddenly awakened wrath 
of their passengers, partly jump overboard, and try 
swimming to reach the shore, or hope at least by a 



GERMANY IN THE SPRING OF 1848. • 113 

compassionate wave to be thrown on the beach. 
A part of them jemain, and promise most submis- 
sively to do at the very moment what they are 
bidden. 

The most impetuous one among the Teutons 
raises his nervy arm w4th the intention of throwing 
the old man into the boiling waves, but in the 
others not every spark of devotional feeling has 
died as yet ; they cause their brother to desist, and 
grant the old man that he, too, may enjoy the feel- 
ing of safety, if they should succeed in saving their 
vessel, hoping yet, in the simplicity of their hearts, 
that he then would act in concert with them for 
their common welfare. 

In the mean time, however, their situation has 
become more desperate yet ; the storm is raging 
more furiously than ever, wilder yet are the waves 
rolling, and the vessel is tossed about in its shape- 
less course. One thing only can save them: the 
wisest, the strongest, the most determined and 
most courageous one among them must seize the 
helm ; with a steady eye and a firm hand must he 
prescribe the vessel its course ; his brothers must 
implicitly obey the commands of his shrill whistle, 
and quickly execute on the masts and yards the 
orders they receive. 

But who is the one that ought to be at the helm '' 



114 *• GERMANY IN THE SPRING OF 1848. 

And will the others obey him ? Their guardian 
has, until now, been acting for them ; they cannot 
estimate each other's strength, nor have they each 
tried their own; they have not learned to com- 
mand, nor have they learned to obey their equals. 
Will not then each one think himself to be the 
worthiest? Will not each one try to enforce his 
own opinion, because he has acted only for his 
own interest up to that time ? 

Woe to them if it is so. Then they are lost 
without recovery. But in peril men are apt to 
pray ; should peril not teach them also unity and 
concord ? And lo I the Teutons have already 
placed the preserver at the helm ; if they now will 
work in concert with him, then they may with a 
hopeful courage look forward towards the Pharos 
whose far-shining light, from the distant entrance 
of the harbor, meets their anxious gaze. There- 
fore,^we hail thee with a hearty welcome, thou 
German Parliament! therefore. Union! come thou 
among us^ and remain with us for ever! 



AN AUTHOR'S FATE, 



I INTEND, in this moment, to write about an in- 
cident whose recollection carries me back to scenes 
of former years, to places beyond the ocean. At 
the time I am thinking of, I was occupied as teach- 
er in a large institution. I had to teach there 
several large writing-classes, and because I then 
did not allow my scholars to write with steel pens, 
I was obliged to mend so many quills that I had 
to attend to this affair at home. Thoroughly Ger- 
man then in all my habits, I was accustomed to 
drink coffee in the afternoon, and to smoke a pipe 
at the same time ; and when I was thus^ after my 
return from school, sitting in my room, drinking, 
smoking and mending quills, I was in the best 
mood in the world for receiving anybody to talk 
with. 

Now it happened one day that a pedler called 
on me, whilst I was in the state of tranquillity I 



116 



described just now. He was a Jew, perhaps thirty- 
five years old. He had been a dyer by trade, but 
was reduced to going about selling to his patrons, 
matches, sealing-wax, wafers, and other small 
things, and dealing occasionally in gold rings, 
breast-pins, &c. Formerly, he had travelled ; had 
been all over Germany, and even in Hungary, and 
now he liked much to talk about his adventures. 
And besides, being somewhat of a simpleton, he 
liked to be ridiculed, or at least seemed to like it. 
Perhaps he did not always feel that persons were 
making fun of him. Though I had no propensity 
to do the latter, and even had not a turn for it, yet 
I liked to talk with him, and occasionally to laugh 
at his expense. 

Since he observed that he was welcome at a 
time when I was not occupied in some other way, 
different from what he saw then, he repeated his 
visit from time to time, and I often whiled away 
an hour by talking with him. Thus he had gained 
a great deal of confidence in me, and he felt at 
liberty one day to say to me, he would like to ask 
a great favor from me. He was about to publish 
a book, and he wished me to write a preface to it. 
I succeeded in showing him a countenance as grave 
and serious as possible, and said, I would do any- 
thing to oblige him, brft that I must see the book 



117 



first, otherwise the preface might fit as a calico 
patch on a silk gown. I asked whether he had 
already written one. He said he had it done, 
though he had not exactly written it ; he had only 
furnished the first draft, the facts, and a gentleman 
had had the kindness to file and to round off the 
whole. Who ? That was a secret which he even 
could not reveal to me. The book was to contain 
the history of his eventful life, and to bear the beau- 
tiful title : " Man ought never to despair, or Auto- 
biography of M. F. G." 

Some days afterwards he brought me the manu- 
script. I read it, and found that it evidently had 
been written by two different persons ; in the first 
part I recognized the style of one of my friends, a 
very talented but indolent young man. He had 
intentionally written in the most witty, romantic 
and poetic style about the most trivial and absurd 
affairs, and thus he had made a perfect parody on 
its subject. Unfortunately, as he was habitually 
volatile, he had got tired of it before getting 
through, and thus poor G. had been obliged to 
give it into less skilful hands, and the remainder 
was written in the style of a plain, unembellished 
narrative. 

I saw the whole was a burlesque ; but it might 
be the means of filling the poor fellow's purse a 



118 



little, so I determined to write him a preface. But 
what kind of preface was I to write? A common- 
place one would not answer, and a humorous and 
very witty one I did not think I could write ; so I 
wrote a very serious and high-sounding one, set- 
ting forth all the benefits mankind would derive 
from the publication of that book, &c. It served 
as a set-off to the entertaining first part of the 
story. 

My patron was very well satisfied with my pre- 
face ; he thought it was beautiful; it expressed 
exactly what he himself would have said about his 
book. And now he busied himself about getting 
it printed. But alas ! an unforeseen delay put a 
check to his activity, hopes and joys. It is true, 
he had beforehand induced a great many persons 
to subscribe to his book, but the most of them 
probably had thought it was a hoax, and never ex- 
pected to see such a book. Nobody was willing 
to pay him, unless the copy subscribed for were 
delivered ; and the printer was not willing to part 
with the printed sheets, unless he was paid. Thus 
poor G., who had no money of his own, was in a 
plight ; there was no way of getting his spiritual 
children out of their prison below the printer's 
desk. 

Thus matters were pending for a long time. At 



119 



last — it was a few weeks before I left Europe — 
my friend came into my room, his face beaming 
with joy, and his whole person in a state of great 
excitement. I asked what was the matter. " Oh, 
I have got my wife again! Now I must have an 
appendix to my book ! Please will you write it for 
me ? " " With the greatest pleasure," said I ; 
" please sit down and acquaint me with the cir- 
cumstances." When I was well posted, and when 
my patron had left me, I wrote the following ap- 
pendix in G.'s name, with the same views and 
intentions that had guided me in writing the 
preface. 

APPENDIX. 

Dear reader, you know the saying, " Out of the 
fulness of the heart the mouth speaketh." This 
sentence holds true with me. If you have read 
my litde book so far attentively, then you will have 
believed that you just now had arrived at its con- 
clusion. And really it was my intention not to 
write any more. But in the fulness of my heart, I 
must now give you the text to another song, which 
you may try to bring into the right metre, and then 
sing it to the tune, " Shout the glad tidings." For 
it is gladness, it is great joyfulness, that prompts 
me to add these few words to my book, though I 



120 



know it will be done in a hurry, since the other part 
is already in print. 

The attentive reader will have found out, that 
there is one comforting, sublime thought inter- 
woven with the whole of my story, viz., " Man 
ought never to despair." But Avith what feelings 
did I deposit that thought there ! Did I have any 
reason perhaps, whilst wishing to glory in the joy- 
ful certainty, that I had done toiling and suffering, 
that my hopes had not been vain, that I, after en- 
during a great deal of pain and trouble, had enter- 
ed into a state of bodily and mental repose and 
happiness ? Did I resemble those that talk big 
words, those who live themselves in joy and mag- 
nificence, and refer in the meanwhile their poor, 
suffering fellow-mortals to a happier state three 
days after doomsday ? 

No, nothing of the kind! It was a quick resigna- 
tion mixed with melancholy feelings ; it was a 
conviction deeply rooted in my bosom, a certainty 
that man's life, though it is subject to many 
changes, yet bears within something stable and 
solid, which never can perish, which enables a man 
to be firm and happy, even in critical situations. 
This it was that made me say, " Man ought never 
to despair." I had no idea then that this confi- 
dence would be visibly rewarded, much less that it 



AN author's fate. 121 

would be rewarded so soon. And yet this has 
come to pass. Yes, dear reader, my fate has taken 
a favorable turn ; even now the palm is mine ; I 
am no more the same lonely, deserted wanderer as 
I have described myself to you. 

How has this happened ? you ask. My answer 
is, " In a simple and yet in a wonderful way." I 
have told you how I established myself with the 
most favorable prospects, how I then by manifold 
misfortunes was reduced to misery; I have told 
you how I saw myself separated from my wife 
after so short a period of domestic happiness. 
Alas ! those were dreary times that I lived through 
then ! Twelve long, long years did I err and wan- 
der about and tarry on this terrestrial pilgrimage, 
lonely and desolate. All the storms that swept 
over my head, I had then to resist, relying on nothing 
but my own strength, like the oak, which stands 
alone on the open field, exposed to winds from 
every quarter of the globe. There was no tender, 
loving being at my side, who might have comfort- 
ed and cheered me, when misfortune threatened 
to crush me. 

Now imagine what must have been the state of 

rapture I was in, when all on a sudden the sun of 

happiness smiled upon me, when Heaven sent such 

a being to my side, and that — in the person of my 

8 



122 AN author's FATEi 

lawful wife. Travelling on business, I passed 
through L., her residence. To my utter astonish- 
ment, I heard there, through the medium of some 
friends, that my wife now would be willing to come 
to me, and live with me. As I said, I was aston- 
ished ; but we believe easily what we believe wil- 
lingly. And I really believed willingly, for indeed 
I never had hated her ; what there was to be for- 
given, I had forgiven long ago, and for years it 
had been my most ardent wish that we might be 
reconciled and reunited. Thus I believed easily, 
too, and my faith was crowned : I came, I saw, 
and — conquered? No; that was not necessary. 
I lay happy in the embrace of my darling, who 
had been lost, and was now found again. 

The further adjustment of the affair is very sim- 
ple and easily told. My wife declared she would 
joyfully share my fate, and would be henceforth to 
me a faithful companion on my pilgrimage. I ac- 
cepted this offer with gladness, and we agreed 
about the measures we had to take. A few weeks 
later, when all obstacles had been removed, my 
wife departed from L., and travelled as far as the 
borough of W., about five miles from here. When I 
was informed that she had arrived, I went and 
conducted her home, — in triumph ? No I I cannot 
say just that. Not, like the first time, had neigh- 



123 



bors and friends prepared her a festive reception ; 
our modest habitation was not adorned with 
wreaths and garlands. But instead of that, ano- 
ther triumph was prepared for her ; I mean the 
heartfelt joy which was expressed on her and on 
my face, even much more visibly than fourteen 
years ago. I know if we had vented, in that mo- 
ment, our feelings, as people do in an opera, we 
should have burst out — not in the song : " I wish 
thou wert my own," but in this one : " O thine, O 
mine, forever ! " 

But I must repeat once more what I have said r 
However simple this story may be, yet it is a won- 
derful one. I told you, without any hesitation, 
why my wife left me twelve years ago. Since 
that time she had been living comfortably with her 
parents, and after their demise — four years since 
— she had been very kindly received by her bro- 
thers, and had lived in affluence. She knew that 
I could not strew her couch with roses, and yet she 
determined, of her own free will, once more to 
unite her lot with mine with indissoluble ties. 
And why this ? One who has not experienced yet 
himself what love is capable of, has at least read 
about it in novels. But in what persons does love 
generally show itself so powerful ? It is in those, 
who, during the first budding of their heart, are 



124 AN author's fate. 

subdued by the full power of this feeling ; in those 
who have not been buffeted yet by the world and 
all its troubles, pains and misery. You say, only 
in first love there is energy. 

But now, think of the events of our former life. 
How little did our love seem to have cast deep 
roots, yea, how did it seem to have died altogether, 
and yet it burst forth again in its whole vigor. Is 
not this wonderful? Yet, why should I muse on 
it? The poet says, " Only what is, is in the right," 
and so will I then enjoy that which is, the joy 
which the present offers me. I am happy. I am 
not greatly blessed with worldly treasures ; but he 
who is satisfied with a little, finds easily what he 
wants. And one treasure I have, which rewards 
me for all the sufferings I have endured so long 
with quiet resignation. Therefore I look with 
confidence into the future ; with my left arm I 
embrace my Kalle ; the right I extend towards the 
stars, and I speak "from the innermost recesses of 
my quiet, joyously breathing bosom : 

"man ought never to despair." 



Mr. G. was perfectly charmed with this addition 
:to his great work, which thus, to anybody's eyes 



AN author's fate. 125 

but his own, must seem to be a very odd conglom- 
eration. 

Whilst I was writing those pages for him, my 
mind had dwelt so much on his exquisite domestic 
happiness, that I was very desirous to have a glance 
at it myself. So I took occasion to step into his 
house. He introduced me to his loving wife, a 
squint-eyed little Jewess. As it happened to be 
their passover, I had to eat unleavened bread with 
them, and to taste their raisin wine, and thus I had 
leisure to observe what a happy, united couple 
they were now. A few days after I had had this 
charming spectacle before my eyes, I left Europe, 
and I did not see, therefore, the work I had had a 
hand in. 

Several months after my arrival in this country 
I received a letter from a friend, in which I was 
made further acquainted with the fate of our 
author and his book. The publication had been 
delayed yet for some time ; but at last, when some 
bookseller had offered to be his security, our friend 
was put in the possession of his treasure, and soon 
he was seen strutting through the streets, with his 
books under his arm, ready to make his patient 
subscribers happy by at last delivering to them 
this important product of his genius, or rather of 
his industry. But Jiow much was he astonished 



126 



and shocked, when he found that there were some 
persons not willing to receive the book, and much 
less to pay for it. He was, however, too benevo- 
lent to be satisfied with that ; he thought, like 
many other great people, " if persons are not wil- 
ling to accept a good thing, it must be forced upon 
them, as upon children." So he went to law with 
them, and they were obhged by the court, if not to 
accept and to read his book, at least to pay for it. 

Some wags had strengthened our credulous 
friend in his belief, that his book was really a valu- 
able production, and so he determined to present 
some splendid copies of it to the Queen of Eng- 
land, to the President of the French Republic, to 
the King of Prussia, to the Grand Duke of Olden- 
burg, to the Queen of Greece, and to the Archduke 
Stephen, (the two latter were on a visit in Olden- 
burg.) The first three copies were despatched by 
mail ; but, alas ! the first two were not accepted ; 
were sent back without having been opened, and 
Mr. G. had to pay a heavy postage, going and 
coming. Of the fate of the third copy my corres- 
pondent was not informed. 

Our author determined to deliver the other three 
copies mentioned, in person ; but in order to do so, 
he had to appear in a dress-coat, and a dress-coat 
he had not. A friend and brother of his creed, 



. AN author's fate. 127 

who thought there was something to be gained on 
this occasion, loaned him some money to buy the 
desired article with ; but for fear that he might sell 
the coat, it had directly to be delivered to his cred- 
itor, who was to take care of it until his departure. 
There was some delay yet, and in the mean while 
the creditor had a very good chance to sell the 
coat to advantage ; such a temptation he could not 
withstand ; and when our author was ready to de- 
part, there was no coat. Sad disappointment! 
Lamentable situation ! 

However, there was yet one compassionate per- 
son to be found, who at last lent him a coat ; and 
now our friend departed for the capital, in high 
spirits and with buoyant hopes. He was really 
admitted into the presence of the high personages ; 
his gift was graciously accepted, and he received 
the reward for his kind attention in the shape of a 
few bright shining dollars. No sooner had he 
been dismissed, when he communicated the glad 
tidings to his wife. In the letter he inclosed — a 
florin. But bad luck again ! When he arrived 
home, he found that his wife had not been able to 
get possession either of the letter, or of the florin it 
contained. In the flurry his success had produced, 
he had directed the letter to Mr. instead of Mrs. G., 
and the postmaster had not been willing to give 



12S 



the letter up to a person who, for aught he knew, 
perhaps pretended only to be the wife of the 
person addressed. Postage again to be paid for 
nothing ! 

I hope this has been the last disappointment 
the poor author has met with ! May the laurels he 
has won adorn his temples for a long while yet ! 
May he never forget to follow his own principle 
and motto : 

"Man ought never to despair." 



A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 



It was in the Spring of 1849, when I left my 
home in.the north-western part of the Grand-duke- 
dom of Oldenburg. I went to Bremen with the 
intention of taking passage in the steamer Wash- 
ington, which was advertised as having been 
newly fitted up, so that fourteen passengers could 
be accommodated, besides those that several 
months ago had engaged all the berths the steamer 
contained. Notwithstanding the expedition with 
which I departed and travelled, I arrived too late ; 
the last berth had been engaged the very morning 
on which I applied. Being thus disappointed, I 
sailed down the Weser, on board the steamboat 
which was to carry the passengers for the Wash- 
ington. A friend of mine, who was going out in 
her, introduced me to the agent who was on board, 
and he tried to get accommodations for me, but it 
was in vain. 



130 A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC, 

"With what feelings I parted from my friend, and 
submitted to my fate of staying behind, and landed 
at Bremen-haven, all this I cannot describe. I did 
not know, then, that this was an accident which 
would prove to be advantageous to me ; I do not 
know even whether I trusted it would. So it is 
with us mortals. Though we think we trust in a 
Divine Providence, yet in the hour of darkness and 
trial we find that it is a hard thing not to waver 
for a moment. 

It was very doubtful whether I should be able 
soon to find another opportunity to depart. The 
Danes, at that time, had blockaded the German 
coast, and did not allow any German vessel to 
leave the port. On my arrival in Bremen-haven, I 
learned, to my great satisfaction, that there were a 
few English vessels almost ready to depart with 
" a load of emigrants." I looked about, and after 
having inquired into the particulars, I took passage 
in a vessel called the Alexander Edmond. A 
week, however, passed before we were ready to set 
sail, and in the mean while I tried to make myself 
at home in seamen's life, and among the people I 
had to deal with. 

For several months I had been very diligent in 
studying English, and so I thought I should get 
along very well. On one of the vessels, I was once 



A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 131 

about to enter into a conversation with the steward, 
and asked him how many passeng-ers they had, 
(putting the accent on the second syllable.) He 
looked at me with astonishment for some time ; 
then he asked, "What say ?" I thought it queer 
that he could not understand my pure English ; 
but he knew only of passengers, and not of 
passeng-ers. This showed me at once, that I had 
to learn and to unlearn much ; the English lan- 
guage cannot be learned from books alone. 

The 19th of April was appointed as the day of 
our departure, and all hands and all goods being on 
board, the crew tried to bring the vessel through 
the sluice out of the harbor, but in vain. Jlead 
wind, snow, and rain, and a high tide conspired 
against them. So I was allowed to pass one more 
night on dry land with my hospitable friends there, 
after having once bidden farewell to them, to home, 
and to my paternal soil. 

On the following day we met with better suc- 
cess, and the ship was soon brought out into the 
stream. The wind was favorable, and we hoped 
at once to sail down the river ; but it was not to be 
so. The anchor was dropped. In the afternoon 
the captain came on board with an agent who read 
the list of passengers in the " between-deck," but 
both returned to Bremen-haven, and the captain did 



132 A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 

not re-appear in our midst before the next day. 
After his return we set sail, but the wind was fa- 
vorable only for about one hour, and then it was 
against us for several days. A very trying time 
this was. Sometimes we were gliding down with 
the tide for a short distance, then we had to lay by 
again for many hours. 

At last we worked our way down to the mouth 
of the river, and on the evening of the 24th we 
dropped our anchor east of the Island of Wange- 
roge, very few miles from the coast of the main land. 
Never shall I forget that evening, where I bade my 
last farewell to the home of my childhood, I knew 
not &r what length of time, perhaps forever. It 
was almost a fortnight since I had left home, and 
there now was my native place again lying before 
me only a few miles off, and yet unapproachable. 
Through the captain's spy-glass, which was an ex- 
cellent one, I could distinctly recognize the church 
near which I had passed my infancy, the high tower 
of the castle and the adjacent town in which I had 
spent a number of years, and I could discern many, 
many other places which memory clung to with 
joyful recollections. There it was spread out be- 
fore me, the land of the past, the scene of my 
golden boyhood, the scene of many a year's earnest 
and serious occupation, and behind me there was 



A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 133 

the wide, wide ocean, and the prospect into an 
unknown, dark, and doubtful future. A long 
time w^as I standing there, lost to everything 
near around me. At last, long after the sun had 
sunk below the horizon, and sable night had 
covered land and sea with her dark veil, I sought 
my place of rest to give myself up to that blessed 
comforter who has already eased so many a heart, 
and softened so many a grief. 

On the following day we sailed further along 
the German, and then along the Dutch coast, 
where I could distinguish some objects with the 
spy-glass. Slowly we were getting along through 
the North Sea, the wind being very low. We, un- 
der our proud English colors, were, of course, not 
molested by the Danes. We had, however, the 
pleasure, or rather were grieved to see a Danish 
frigate. We had left Bremen-haven in company 
with two other vessels, and we had kept all the 
time pretty near together. A brig with Russian 
colors was behind us. The frigate fired upon her, 
and she had to come nearer and to send her papers 
on board. Oh ! what a shame and disgrace ? 
When will Germany be one single, powerful, and 
respected country, which dares to hoist its own flag 
on the ocean, and knows how to protect it ? 

On the 30th of April we had at last arrived be- 



134 VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 

fore the English Channel, being thus as far as we 
might have been in two or three days under more 
favorable circumstances. Then, about noon a 
fresh easterly breeze sprung up, and the forty-eight 
hours following that moment, were the most beau- 
tiful ,and pleasant of the whole voyage. Soon the 
English coast loomed up from the western horizon, 
and with it hundreds and hundreds of yessels, 
which were hastening towards the great metropolis 
or sailing away from it. Then the opposite Bel- 
gian and French coast became visible, and at four 
o'clock we were sailing with a splendid breeze into 
the Channel, passing between Dover and Calais. 
We were so near the English coast that we could 
distinguish the streets in Dover and the parts of the 
fortress above it on the height. O, England is like 
a beautiful, splendid pearl swimming in the wide 
ocean. As I saw it lying there before me, with its 
white shining rocks, its green forests, its populous 
cities and its beautiful villas, — the home of a pow- 
erful great nation, — alas! a feeling came over me, 
as though I would like to call such a country my 
fatherland. 

On the following day we sailed along the south- 
ern coast of the island, passed near the beautiful Isle 
of Wight, and, at night, favored by the most charm- 
ing weather, we took delight in watching the 



A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 135 

many light-houses which guide the watchful mari- 
ner safely along this dangerous coast. On the 
next day the land receded, and at last it disap- 
peared altogether from our sight. We were glad 
that we had traversed these dangerous waters in 
about two days, and we considered this as an in- 
demnification for the former loss of time. 

As we now were steering out upon the wide 
ocean, many an impatient mind already calculated 
that possibly we might be "there" in a fortnight, or 
at least in three weeks. But he who entrusts him- 
self in a sailing vessel to the Atlantic, which is more 
than three thousand miles wide, had better not 
" calculate," or "reckon," perhaps even not "guess" ; 
it is better to be half listless and thoughtless, and 
to give one's fate entirely up to the Almighty, in 
whose hands it is at all events. I have fared well, 
observing this rule ; and often, whilst others were 
lamenting, I did not lose my patience. A good 
portion of equanimity, however, was necessary 
quietly to endure such a voyage as we had. Other 
vessels that sailed about the same time with us, 
had no better fate than ours, but at the time it was 
no comfort to have companions in misfortune, be- 
cause we could not know that we had any, and 
after all, that would not have been a humane way 
of consoling ourselves either. More aggravating 



136 A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 

yet was it to meet with such a fate in Spring, where 
the voyages "out" are generally the shortest. 

Whilst we had been in the North Sea, we had a 
few very pleasant and warm days, and the stove 
was removed from the cabin, but we regretted this 
afterwards exceedingly. The weather turned to 
be very cold, and remained so all the time, except 
the last few days. As late as after Whitsuntide I 
had to wrap myself up in a cloak, when I was on 
deck ; and when we had to remain in the cabin on 
account of bad weather, and could not " walk" our- 
selves warm, then it was almost unendurable. 

Yet, every one might have been willing to en- 
dure the cold, if we only had had favorable winds ; 
but if we sometimes had had for a few hours a 
light easterly breeze, then we had again for days to 
battle against a violent west wind, or we were 
becalmed. Both were equally disagreeable occur- 
rences. If we sometimes had no wind at all for 
two or three days, and the ocean was as smooth as 
a mirror, and the sails were hanging straight down, 
and the ship was literally not moving from the 
spot, then everybody enjoyed such a bodily rest 
exceedingly, especially the poor ones that suffered 
much from sea-sickness ; but I believe, the pains 
which many were suffering mentally, instead of it, 
were worse yet. You have never seen a set of 



A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 137 

people that looked more dissatisfied, impatient, 
fretful, and dejected, than such a large number of 
emigrants during such a calm. 

On the other hand, when it began to storm, then 
other sufferings commenced. Up to the 8th of May- 
things had been running pretty smoothly ; only a 
few very weak persons had suffered a little from 
seasickness on the North Sea. On the day men- 
tioned, however, a violent storm came on, and then 
things looked differently. Such a storm is a grand, 
awful thing. On that day and often afterwards 
did I stand on the poop, and looked at this sublime 
spectacle, but the last time it seemed to me just 
as grand as the first. The vessel is running almost 
under bare poles, for all the sails are taken in, 
except two or three which are reefed as short 
as possible ; the wind is whistling and howling 
through the rigging; the ship is leaning so far on 
one side, that you have to take hold with both your 
hands of a beam or a part of the rigging, in order 
not to be thrown headlong into the water which 
you see boiling perpendicularly below you. If you 
look towards the bow, you see the waves come 
rolling towards you, one behind the other, as high 
as the middle of the mast; they are crowned with 
a huge crest of foam. Now the ship is on the top 
of one of them, npw she dashes down into a valley, 
9 



138 A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 

and you think the next moment she may be buried 
below the mountain of water towering before her. 
Then she runs just against a wave, and she receives 
a most violent shock ; the wave breaks over the 
vessel, the spray flies about on all sides and drenches 
everything, and those that are exposed to it can 
tell of more than of a soft sprinkling dew. 

Such scenes we have often witnessed. Once we 
were for seventeen days exposed to such almost 
uninterrupted stormy weather. Those were dreary 
days! It is true, I believe, we have not encountered 
one of the most violent storms that ever rage on the 
ocean, at least I imagined, the most terrible would 
have been more terrible than what we saw ; yet 
one night there was so much danger that the car- 
penter was ready, the hatchet in his hand, to cut 
the rigging in case a mast should break. A person 
who has not seen it, has no idea what an aspect an 
emigrant vessel presents at such times. 

On the 8th of May almost every one was at- 
tacked by seasickness. Strange it was ; I never 
would have believed that I should not suffer much, 
and yet I escaped almost entirely, with a few other 
passengers. But one morning they told me, I 
looked very pale ; the cause was, I had been smok- 
ing after breakfast. The irritability of the digest- 
ive organs is at such times too great to allow of 



A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 139 

any heterogeneous substance ; and this irritability 
and a violent headache, I believe, are the real 
substance of this strange kind of sickness. Some 
persons were suffering exceedingly. There was a 
Catholic priest on board, who could not, during 
the whole time, retain anything he partook of. 
We all liked him very well on account of his con- 
stant good humor, and we pitied him accordingly. 
There was one lady who felt so miserable, that she 
declared she had no objection to being thrown over- 
board. I do not know whether she would have 
struggled or not, if we had tried it. On the whole, 
the attacks were pretty much looked upon as a 
laughable affair. If one grew pale, left our merry 
circle and went to the railing — unfortunately often 
to the wrong side, against the wind — he was 
often laughed at very heartily ; and if he was not of 
too desponding a character, then he laughed himself 
too, as soon as he had got over the business. 

As I suffered very little during the day, so I en- 
joyed generally a good rest during the night. Some- 
times, however, the rolling and the plunging of the 
vessel awakened me all on a sudden, and I seized 
with both hands the post near my head, in order 
not to be flung out of the berth. At such times, and 
when the bleak light of the moon or of the morn- 
ing dawn threw a dim glare through the skylights 



140 A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 

into the nice little cabin in which four of us slept, 
I had sometimes a funny spectacle before me. I 
could not help laughing, when I saw boots and 
clothes and hat-boxes and trunks, and everything 
else that was not nailed or tied fast, rushing all at 
once towards one side, stopping there for a moment 
as if resting after such a violent exertion, and then 
rushing again "with a vengeance" towards the op- 
posite side back again, and so on. It was as if a band 
of demons were holding their nightly revels there. 

One of the hardest pieces of work on stormy 
days was eating and drinking. There were squares 
of wood nailed on the table and the plates were 
put between them, but very often one of the latter 
escaped from its prison and rushed to the other end 
of the table, and its contents run farther yet. If a 
person was very careful and took his plate or cup in 
his hand, but did not balance well, then the things, 
especially fluids, would slip out sideways and find 
their way not into his mouth, but into his neigh- 
bor's lap ; and even if he had brought them near his 
lips, they often went down his throat — not inside, 
bat outside. 

Walking, standing and sitting were just as difli- 
cult feats as the former, and many a laughable 
•scene was enacted, and bleeding noses were a thing 
not unheard of. Happy was he who could sit on 



A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 141 

the floor of the cabin, fixing his back in a corner 
and putting his feet against a foot of the table 
which was nailed to the floor. 

In this manner we worked on our way so far that 
we arrived on the 8th of June at the south end of the 
banks of Newfoundland, having passed two hundred 
miles north of the Western Isles. I can hardly com- 
prehend, how the art and science of navigation can 
overcome the resistance of the elements so far, and 
how we had been able to reach this point in spite 
of all the west winds. One day we were really 
driven back, and the captain's observations and 
calculations showed that we were thirty-two miles 
farther east than at noon the preceding day. At 
such times one finds out that it is a wise regula- 
tion, when the authorities in Bremen command that 
every emigrant vessel must take in provisions for 
thirteen weeks ; when you are thus drifting about 
on the middle of the ocean, only then you have 
an adequate conception of the awful distance to 
either continent. 

If we had not been more fortunate after the 8th 
of June, than before, we might have been at last in 
great distress, especially from want of drinking- 
water which began to be scanty and corrupt. But 
from that day on we had beautiful weather and a 
strong east wind, and we were sailing at the rate of 



142 



A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 



eight, nine, and ten miles an hour. The velocity is 
found out in a simple way: the log line is thrown 
out every two hours ; the small piece of board at- 
tached to it, remains stationary in the water, the 
line uncoils, and you compare the number of knots 
passing through your hand with the sand running 
down in a certain time in an hour-glass standing 
by. We were now fast approaching our place of 
destination, and the effect hereby produced upon 
the passengers was marvellous. Never have I seen 
a crowd of people, where there was so much joy 
expressed on the face of every individual. 

During the next days we perceived the proximi- 
ty of land, and, strange to say, first by the sense of 
smelling. As I afterwards learned, there were at 
that time large woods on fire in New Brunswick, 
and the smoke had spread out far over the ocean, 
a smoke resembling that which arises from the burn- 
ing moorlands in Europe, but not of so disagreeable 
an odor as the latter. However, before I follow, in 
my narrative, the course of the vessel into the har- 
bor, I will say a little more about the life on board. 

Our Alexander Edmond, a ship of seven hun- 
dred and ten tons burden, was not a vessel built for 
the purpose of transporting emigrants. The cabin 
was, therefore, not as good and convenient, as in 
many other vessels, and the passengers in the 



A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 143 

berths around it complained much of dampness, 
&c. The little cabin in which I slept, was behind 
the large one, did not touch the sides of the ves- 
sel, and was very dry and comfortable. The be- 
tween-deck was ten feet high (on other vessels gen- 
erally eight feet), and the number of passengers was 
not large in comparison with the size of the vessel 
— two hundred and fifty-four in the between-deck 
and steerage, fourteen in the cabin. This, com- 
bined with the constant cold weather and the cap- 
tain's strictness in regard to ventilation and cleans- 
ing, ensured a very good state of health. They 
said there was very little nuisance below, and very 
little sickness besides seasickness. Once there was 
a report that a man had the small-pox, and this 
produced a great consternation, but fortunately it 
proved to be a false alarm. 

A child, two and a half years old, the daughter 
of a sculptor from Prague, died on the 7th of May, 
about noon. They intended to follow the customs 
of the sea, and only to sew the corpse in canvas, but 
on my interposition the captain granted the wish 
of the distressed father ; the carpenter made a little 
coffin of rough boards ; the corpse was put into it, 
and some bags with gravel were added, so that it 
might sink. In the evening the coffin was lowered 
down into the water by two sailors, whilst one of 



144 A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC/ ' 

the two Catholic priests that were on board, read a 
prayer. The corpse slowly sunk towards its bed at 
the bottom of the unfathomable ocean, and when 
it had disappeared, the priest preached a funeral 
sermon. I think we would have gladly dispensed 
with it, however good it might have been ; the feel- 
ings with which I — and certainly others too — was 
watching that little coffin, as it sunk through the 
transparent wave, needed no interpretation. 

Notwithstanding this loss, we brought our full 
number to port, for three days before we landed, we 
were informed that an infant had been born on 
board. Thus an emigrant vessel is a world in 
itself; with all its occurrences it is like a whole 
village. What different sorts of people are collected 
there ; how they are huddled together, even with 
the best accommodations, of all this it is impossi- 
ble to convey any idea in a few words ; it must be 
seen to be known. Among such a number and 
motley crowd, there must always be some whose 
society is either acceptable or at least amusing, or 
entertaining on account of a pleasant or disgust- 
ing peculiarity, and so there is no lack of variety. 
There were among my companions in the cabin a 
few very agreeable young men, and in the steerage 
there were several nice people. These were from 
the interior of Germany, and being ignorant of 



A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 



145 



things at sea, they had believed they would be well 
off, if they engaged for the steerage instead of the 
between-deck. Sadly were they disappointed, and 
for their and for our own 'sake we asked the cap- 
tain to allow them to come on the quarter-deck, 
and thus we had quite a pleasant sociable circle. 

I spent the most of my time in study, trying to 
learn English as fast as possible, and well it was 
that I did so, for I reaped the benefits of it, as soon 
as I tried to find some occupation in this country. 
During the first three weeks, when the sea was yet 
tolerably quiet, I had fixed upon the following 
" order of the day." I rose about 7 o'clock, and 
promenaded on the deck until 8 o'clock, which was 
the hour for breakfast. After breakfast the gentle- 
men met on deck and smoked and talked a while. 
After this I practised writing English ; thereupon a 
circle of companions gathered around me and I gave 
them an English lesson — as good a one as I then 
could give, with the occasional assistance of the 
captain. The remainder of the time before the 
hour of dinner, (1 o'clock,) I spent in studying 
Walker's Dictionary. During the afternoon I was 
occupied in reading and writing, and at 6 o'clock 
we were called to tea. As soon as the stormy 
weather set in, we had to give up our lessons al- 
most entirely, and there was no possibility of writ- 



146 A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 

ing. Then I read the more, and commenced learn- 
ing EngUsh poetry by heart — a practice which is 
worthy of being recommended to every student, in 
any Janguage. The evening was invariably de- 
voted to social intercourse, either with the captain 
or with one of the mates, or with other passengers. 
We conversed, played, sang and laughed enough, 
except on Sundays. Some of the passengers had 
been lying on deck on a Sunday, playing cards, 
and we in the cabin had been singing and play- 
ing on the guitar. The crew and their officers, 
mostly Englishmen, firmly believed that heaven 
sent all that bad weather down upon us to punish 
such wickedness, and I do not know whether 
any of us believed them, or whether we wished to 
condescend to act according to their notions ; the 
truth is, we left off singing and playing on Sundays. 
Since I knew so little English, and had acquired 
so bad a pronunciation, it was very fortunate, after 
all, that I did come over in this vessel, and not 
in a steamer, or in any other sailing vessel. No- 
where, and especially not here on the main land, 
should I have learned so much English in the same 
time, as I did learn there. I was the only one with 
whom the captain could converse, for there were 
only three or four passengers besides me who had 
any knowledge of the English language at all, and 



A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 147 

these were not able to carry on a conversation in 
English. Thus I became the captain's social com- 
panion ; he was very jovial and talkative, and con- 
versed with me for hours, always correcting me 
when I made mistakes. 

In other respects, however, my knowledge of the 
English language was an acquirement not at all 
desirable on board of such a vessel. There was no 
interpreter, and really it is a shame to put several 
hundreds of people thus into the hands of a captain 
and of a crew, whose language they do not under- 
stand ! I found out very soon how disagreeable it 
was to act as interpreter. There was an everlast- 
ing complaining about this and that, sometimes 
well founded, sometimes not. I could induce the 
captain to grant a great many things, but he did 
it always reluctantly, and whenever he did not 
comply, then there was dissatisfaction on the other 
side. There was a little Jew in the between-deck, 
who was in the beginning very forward and much 
gratified at acting as interpreter, but very soon the 
Englishmen did not want to have anything to do 
with him, and some of his dear countrymen, in 
whose behalf he had wished to act, threatened him 
with a sound thrashing ; so he was afterwards not 
so much seen and heard of. 

The captain was not willing personally to have 



148 A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 

anything to do with the between-deck, and accord- 
ing to his papers he was partly in the right. The 
agents (or brokers) pay the owners a certain sum 
for every passenger, (in this case about £3,) but 
the agents buy all the provisions, which are in- 
spected in Bremen-haven, and are bound to be 
good and sufficient, but yet are always as cheap as 
possible ; the agents keep the remainder of the 
passage-money for themselves and their employees. 
The passengers, thus considered as merchandise, 
must then get along the best way they can; they 
must help in cooking, &c. There are many 
unwarrantable proceedings resorted to, and when 
these are found out, then there is secret or 
openly manifested dissatisfaction. We had not 
been many days on board, when one morning a 
crowd came abaft, a large fierce looking man as 
spokesman at their head. He said, they would no 
longer submit to such treatment. He handed to me 
a printed circular from an agent somewhere in Ba- 
varia, I believe, in which they were promised, every 
male person over sixteen years of age should have 
his "Schnapps" every morning during the whole 
passage. I translated it to the captain ; he said 
there was no gin sent on board, and he did not 
know anything about such promises. So the hopes 
of the male passengers over sixteen years of age 



A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 149 

were blasted. At another time the captain ordered 
his whole crew on deck, and threatened to put in 
irons the first person that should dare to cause any 
disturbance. 

The passengers in the cabin were not altogether 
the agent's merchandise ; the captain had to pro- 
vide their table himself. Our fare was abundant, 
though not always of the best quality, nor pre- 
pared in the best way either. Moreover, because 
Germans on the whole are not likely to fancy 
much the English way of "fixing" the victuals, 
and because the seasickness caused the stomach 
to revolt against things prepared in any way what- 
ever, therefore there was a great deal of complaint. 
Everything was said in German, but because every 
one speaks not only with words, but also with ges- 
tures and features, the captain comprehended very 
well what they thought and said. One day he 
complained bitterly to me, that nobody had touched 
the plum-pudding which had cost so much money. 
Every one, however, knew from experience what it 
would have cost him if he had eaten it. 

The fare below deck was very poor, and some 
of my companions "abstracted" biscuit from the 
table and brought it to their friends in the steerage. 
Though I did not think that was quite right, yet I 
did what I could, in some other way. For instance, 



150 A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 

there were two very amiable young ladies who had 
taken passage in the steerage, very little suspecting 
what fate awaited them, and not knowing that the 
steerage passengers had to breathe the same air 
and to eat the same food that the people in the be- 
tween-deck had to be satisfied with. Those brown 
biscuits, harder than a stone, that sour-crout 
soup, with hardly any sour-crout in it, that bean 
soup, almost without any beans in it, — really it 
was no food for people that had seen better days. 
These ladies had lived sparingly on some dried 
fruit, &c., with which they had provided them- 
selves, but soon their store was exhausted. Be- 
cause they were very genteel, they had permission 
to come into the cabin at any time, or to stay in 
the cabin of any of the officers who were on deck 
on duty, and the steward was ordered by the cap- 
tain to provide them with the necessary food. The 
boy, however, misguided by some envious persons, 
had heeded this order very little. Many days had 
the two modest young ladies patiently submitted 
to want and hunger, until at last one of them be- 
came sick. Her sister then told me what was the 
cause, and I informed the captain of it, and meas- 
ures were then taken that they had all they wanted 
during the remainder of the time. This and other 
incidents proved that the great family on board was 



A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 151 

neither happy nor quite united, and that many of 
the members had to learn and to unlearn a great 
deal, before they could be good citizens of that 
great republic, towards which they were tending. 

In regard to a passage across the Atlantic, in 
general, I must say, that it is useless to keep a daily 
record of it, as some of my friends did ; one day 
is too much like the other. Those who say that 
there is an immense deal of interesting things to 
be observed during the passage, must either tell 
stories, or must be gifted with a powerful poetical 
imagination. It is true, the aspect of the ocean 
during a storm is sublime ; during a calm the ocean 
is equal to a vast, barren desert ; the sunset is 
sometimes very beautiful, and it is pleasant to 
watch at night the phosphoric, glowing track of 
the vessel. It is interesting to see hundreds, some- 
times even thousands of porpoises, of six to twenty 
feet in length, as they lazily roll and tumble around 
the vessel, or hastily travel at a distance, who 
knows, whence, whither, or why just straight in 
that direction. It is entertaining to meet another 
vessel, to hear the captains converse through their 
speaking-trumpets, sometimes even to come so 
near, as we once did, that you almost think you 
can shake hands with those passengers over there, 
who are just as likely as you, one of these days, to 



152 A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 

be swallowed up by the deep main. It whiles 
away some hours, through the spy-glass to watch 
the vessels that come and go in the distance, to 
feed " Mother Carey's Chickens," to watch the beau- 
tiful little " Portuguese Men-of-war," as they sail 
around you, or to throw a hook with a large piece 
of bacon overboard in the expectation to catch a 
shark. But in spite of all this, such a voyage is 
tedious and monotonous, if one has not been 
thrown together with very sociable and interesting 
persons, or does not know- how to employ his time 
in study. Thus you find that captains are often 
great readers, and I believe Captain Marryatt is not 
the only literary character among mariners. 

After having thus described our " life on the 
ocean wave," I have only to add an account of the 
end of our journey. It was on the evening of the 
12th of June that the captain assured us, we should 
see land on coming on deck the next morning. 
This information was received with a great deal of 
satisfaction, and many of us were the next morn- 
ingh on deck, when the day was hardly dawning. 
And really, there was the land ! We were sailing 
at some distance along the coast of Long Island. 
O ! what a beautiful sight it was to our eyes which 
had seen so many a day nothing but water and 
sky ! How eagerly did we scrutinize every point 
through the spy-glass I 



A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 153 

At 8 o'clock the pilot came on board. He 
brought some newspapers, and a large circle was 
forming in a moment to hear what news they 
brought. The first question from the lips of every 
body was, " What news from Germany ? " But 
the answer produced no reflection of joy upon any 
of the faces all around ; sorrow about the poor, 
disunited, unhappy fatherland was legible in all 
their features. The papers brought at the same 
time the news, that the cholera had made its ap- 
pearance in New York, but such a thing could not 
put a damper on the joy we felt at having nearly 
arrived ; every sorrow was drowned in the enjoy- 
ment of the next few hours. We sailed with a 
most favorable wind into the Narrows, and soon 
afterwards into the Bay of New York : we saw 
once more green trees and beautiful houses ; we 
saw horses and cattle on the meadows, and birds 
flying over our heads, saw so many, many other 
things which had not cheered our eye for so long a 
time. 

It is almost impossible to describe the childlike 
gladness which all this produced, and the various 
ways in which this feeling expressed itself. And 
then, the entrance into the Bay is really beautiful 
with its two forts, with the sloping hills on both 
sides, with the tufts of green trees, and with charm- 
10 



154 A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 

ing country-seats near and far. The time will 
come, when art has assisted nature here as much 
as it has done in those beautiful spots which a 
person sees on his travels in Europe, and then the 
lower part of the Bay of New York will be beau- 
tiful beyond conception. We had plenty of time 
to observe everything, because we cast anchor near 
Staten Island, as soon as we had entered the Bay. 
It was then about 3 o'clock, P. M. 

It was not long before the most of the passen- 
gers appeared on deck in their best attire, thus 
gratifying the wish of the captain, who wanted to 
show off well before the physician who was to 
come on board. This gentleman made his appear- 
ance very soon ; he let all the between-deck passen- 
gers file off before him in review, then he came to 
us on the poop, threw a single glance at us, and 
the regulations concerning this affair were complied 
with. We were allowed to land as soon as possi- 
ble, because we had had only one case of death 
and very little sickness. We were, however, pre- 
vented from doing so on account of other things. 
Our vessel was not to go to New York. Its desti- 
nation was not to take a cargo there, but to pro- 
ceed to Canada and take in timber. Probably in 
order to ga:in time, or to save the tonnage, we were 
therefore left on the quarantine ground, and the 



A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 155 

captain went alone to New York to order a steam- 
boat, &c. The landing was made much more 
disagreeable by this circumstance. 

Whilst we were lying there, an agent of the 
German Society came on board and distributed 
handbills containing advice, warnings, the value of 
different European gold coins, &c. Then some 
boats came alongside with fruit, fresh wheat bread, 
&c., and these articles were disposed of very rapidly 
and, of course, at high prices. Thereupon the run- 
ners made their appearance. We on the quarter- 
deck were not importuned by them, for they thought 
there were other people on board whom it would 
be easier to persuade, viz. the peasants from the 
interior of Germany. These good-natured people 
formed circles of attentive listeners around the 
clever orators ; and though they had been cautioned 
the moment before, by their real friend of the Ger- 
man Society, yet many of them followed the se- 
ducing invitation of the runners, and perhaps more 
than one may have had cause soon to regret such 
a step. 

On the following morning everybody arranged 
his affairs, and towards noon the captain came 
down with a steamboat. And now a scene com- 
menced which surpasses anything I have ever seen 
of that kind. All the chests and boxes were 



156 A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 

brought on deck ; a custom-house officer made the 
owners unlock them, and he examined them, 
though fortunately not minutely ; there was con- 
fusion enough, with undoing and re-packing on 
all sides. Then the sailors laid hands on the 
baggage and handled it very roughly. The steam- 
boat was much lower than our vessel, and they let 
the things tumble down topsy-turvy, so that some 
chests were even broken to pieces, and their con- 
tents were scattered about. We remonstrated with 
the captain, and then they behaved a little better. 

When everything had been handed down, the 
passengers climbed down too. There was very little 
time for bidding the officers of the vessel good-bye, 
very little time to think at all ; and so it was not 
for a long time that one could give way to those 
feelings which crowded upon his heart at the 
moment, when he left a set of planks that had 
borne him for eight weeks midst pleasant and 
midst dreary scenes. 

It was about 5 o'clock, when we landed with 
our little steamboat which was crowded to excess. 
At the wharf a host of harpies were awaiting us, 
and watched our approach with eager looks. 
Everybody was determined to board us first, and 
such a scrambling and scuffiing and hallooing and 
shouting, as there ensued before us on that narrow 



A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 157 

pier at which we landed, — oh, it is indescribable. 
I feel as though my eyes were swimming, my ears 
buzzing, and my head turning at the present mo- 
ment, as I think of it again. One passenger fell 
overboard, and might have been drowned, had not 
two others jumped down after him and rescued 
him. 

I had clubbed together with several of my 
friends ; we determined not at all to be in a hurry, 
and we got along very well. We worked upon 
the plan of division of labor. Two were sent off 
into the city to get advice from an acquaintance 
there, about the hotel to which it would be advis- 
able to repair ; we had beforehand determined to 
go into an American house, where they do not 
make it a business to squeeze as much as possible 
out of the purse of the poor helpless immigrant. 
I was delegated to procure good and cheap convey- 
ance ; they thought that one who could speak 
English, was not likely to be imposed upon, which 
to prevent, I found, however, to be pretty hard 
work. The others were left on board to protect 
our baggage, with their eyes, mouths, hands and 
feet, against all the attacks of officious and greedy 
carters, who were pouncing down upon them at 
every moment. At last, when everybody else had 
left, we followed quietly and deliberately, and 



158 A VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 

reached our hotel about dusk. And fully did we 
thereupon enjoy the luxury of sleeping for the first 
time again in a comfortable bed; having "terra 
firma" below us, and being no more rocked to 
sleep by the rolling waves of the ocean. 



VISIT AT THE PRESIDENT'S HOUSE, 



FRAGMENT OF A LETTER. 



In conclusion, allow me to add a short descrip- 
tion of a scene, in which some individuals besides 
your friend, appear before you on the stage. 

During a short journey which I undertook last 
month, I spent a day or two at the Metropolis of 
this great Confederacy, and there I had the pleas- 
ure of seeing the President in his own house. But 
before I go on, I beg you, lay aside your prejudices 
and your ideas about European sovereigns, and do 
not think, either that I was very forward in doing 
so, or that I was especially favored or distinguished 
by being allowed to do so, or that I was admitted 
on urgent business, perhaps with a petition or some- 
thing of that kind. When I tell you the circum- 



stances, you will find that it was a very simple 
affair, and quite a common occurrence, though to 
me a very novel and interesting one. 

The President of the United States is not so 
inaccessible as a European sovereign, who does 
not think that he holds his office by the will of a 
nation, but that he is seated on his throne by God's 
mercy, and on the strength of his own right of in- 
heritance. On the contrary, you have a great many 
opportunities to meet the President, and to speak 
to him in public as well as in private. During the 
winter, for instance, or about as long as Congress 
is in session, he has appointed one evening of the 
week for a reception evening. According to this 
arrangement, the doors of his residence and his sa- 
loons are open for admittance on Thursday nights, 
from 9 to 11 o'clock, and then he receives guests 
without any limitation whatever. 

It was my good luck to be in Washington on 
such an evening, and by chance to hear about this 
" levee," as many like to call it. Towards half past 
8 o'clock, I walked down the Pennsylvania Avenue, 
a beautiful wide street which leads from the Capi- 
tol to the President's House. On the way I was 
thinking what a figure I should cut there in the 
dress I had on. Happily I found that I had a pair 
of white kid gloves in my pocket ; but what should 



A VISIT AT THE PRESIDENT'S HOUSE. 161 

I do in regard to my frock coat ? Especially in 
the Southern States a great many persons wear, 
even in common life, a black dress-coat, in fact a 
whole suit of black clothes. A German who is not 
much accustomed to see such a costume in^ every- 
day life, is therefore almost inclined, on his arrival 
in this country, to imagine that he meets a minister 
at every twenty yards. " Now," thought I, " what 
will be my chances on this present grand occasion? 
will'they refuse to admit me, and shall I be obliged 
to do, as they are forced to do in London, in order 
to be admitted into the theatre where the Queen is 
present, viz. to buy or to hire a gala-dress ? Any 
how, I will try ! I am a stranger, and so I may 
plead ignorance as a palliation." 

It was a beautiful moonlight night, and since a 
great many other persons came, like me, too early, 
it was no great task to wait some time before the 
closed door ; I had thus leisure to observe all the 
people as they w^ere arriving, some in splendid car- 
riages, some in plain hacks, others as humble pe- 
destrians. The President's or the White House is 
of moderate dimensions, and an almost plain look- 
ing building ; and when a person looks at it from 
the side where the carriages drive up, and where its 
appearance is spoiled by a small portico with un- 
proportionably high columns, and when he is not 



162 A VISIT AT THE PRESIDENT'S HOUSE. 

aware that this is not the main front, then he thinks 
the Americans might give their first magistrate a 
little better lodgings. Still I do not know but 
that the house is good enough in proportion to other 
things. When you consider that the President 
receives $25,000 a year, and that your grand 
duke, who does not rule over as many people as 
the city of Philadelphia alone contains, receives 
$200,000 a year from the State treasury, then 
you see that a magnificent palace, built to ^uit 
European notions of grandeur, would be rather out 
of place here. And after all, when you happen to 
see the right front of the President's house first, 
when you walk through the beautiful gardens which 
surround it, and when you observe how symmetri- 
cally the other buildings for the department of state, 
of war, &c. are erected on the outskirts of these 
grounds, then you come to the conclusion that the 
whole makes a tolerably good impression on you. 

Precisely at 9 o'clock the doors were opened, and 
the crowd entered the hall. At the door of the 
second room the President was standing, ready to 
receive his guests. Zachary Taylor is a man of 
middle size ; his head is gray, his features firm, but 
indicating a high degree of kindness. He who has 
shown the Mexicans that he is a soldier from head 
to foot ; he whose heart has beaten so many a year 



A VISIT AT THE PRESIDENT'S HOUSE. 163 

under a military uniform, he is standing there in a 
plain black dress-coat; his breast is not adorned by 
the star or the badge of any order, — whereas the 
crowned heacls in Europe and even Louis Napoleon, 
— however, away with such comparisons I They 
are too sad to dwell upon. 

I was among the first that entered, and as the 
crowd was pouring in behind us, there was no time 
for anybody to be introduced by name, &c. A firm 
grasp of the extended hand, a " How do you do," 
or " I am very glad to see you," or some other kind 
words, was the only thing that was to be done or said 
in the beginning. Who knows what I would have 
done, if it had been otherwise ? My heart was so 
full at that moment, where I for the first time wit- 
nessed such a beautiful scene, exemplifying the 
value of a republican government, that I should have 
liked to vent my feelings and speak to the Pres- 
ident. But perhaps it was better for me that I had 
no chance to do so, for he might have considered it 
superfluous, and I am sure I should not have suc- 
ceeded in making a well-set speech. 

I passed on with the current, traversed several 
rooms and entered into a large saloon, which was 
the gathering place of the guests. It is called the 
East room ; it is, like all the other apartments, be- 
comingly and tastefully furnished, but without any 



164 A VISIT AT THE PRESIDENT'S HOUSE. 

tendency to extravagant luxury ; and, as I am told, 
the whole never looks antiquated or superannuated, 
because the furniture is renewed every four years 
at the inauguration of the elected President. 

Directly on entering I had seated myself in one 
of the large chairs at one end of the room, and there 
I could at leisure observe all the persons as they 
entered in succession. There were some of the 
senators whom I had seen and heard during their 
session in the morning ; there were members of the 
House of Representatives, some with their wives 
and daughters who were spending several months in 
the capital ; there were some inhabitants of Wash- 
ington itself, and a great many strangers from all 
parts of the Union and from foreign countries. 
People were there in all sorts of dresses, but no 
man in " uniform" was to be seen ! ! The citizens 
of a free country, and their executive and legislative 
representatives, do not think it necessary to make 
themselves slaves of a court etiquette ; and thus I 
found that I need not have had any apprehensions 
on that score. The artisan in his plain coat moved 
free and easy and not the least constrained, near 
the fine, experienced, far-famed diplomatist ; the 
plainest woman, from the uttermost boundaries of 
civilization in the West, near the ostentatious rul- 
ing spirit of some fashionable circle ; the withered, 



A VISIT AT THE PRESIDENT'S HOUSE. 165 

broken flower alongside of that surpassing beauty, 
which one has so often occasion to admire in the 
features of American ladies. 

After I had been for some time a quiet observer, 
two ladies came walking towards where I was 
sitting. One of them seated herself in the only 
empty chair alongside of me, and the other was 
certainly expecting that I would offer her my seat. 
You know perhaps that the Americans are very po- 
lite towards the fair sex ; they do all they can think 
of, in order to show the regard they have for ladies. 
You may observe this in the most trivial as w^ell as 
in the most important affairs ; I have, for instance, 
noticed that the ladies approach the communion- 
table before the gentlemen. On the whole, I like this 
very well, for I think this deference shown to the 
most beautiful work that an Almighty hand has 
created, is one of the most valuable traits in a man's 
character. Well, I knew already enough about 
American life to comprehend my situation at once, 
and I was not slow in offering my seat to the lady. 
It was accepted, and I then remained standing 
near the place I had vacated. 

I learned then from the conversation which was 
going on near me, that my neighbor was from Ten- 
nessee, and my own eyes had already acquainted 
me with the undeniable fact that she was a very 



166 A VISIT AT THE PRESIDENT'S HOUSE. 

beautiful young lady. Now I knew that the ladies, 
and especially those from the South, generally do 
not expect to be spoken to by a gentleman who has 
not been formally introduced to them, but yet I 
could not help commencing a conversation ; I got 
tired of being there a silent looker-on. I knew I 
was not going to say or to do anything offensive, 
and secretly perhaps I thought that I, as an utter 
stranger, might have felt at liberty not to be so 
polite as I had been, and might therefore be 
allowed to reward myself by not standing on punc- 
tilios. I saw that my fair neighbor was at first a 
little surprised when I spoke to her, but we were, 
nevertheless, very soon engaged in pleasant con- 
versation, and thus the time passed away very 
agreeably. 

On the whole, the pleasure which any one can 
find there, consists only in these three things, — to 
see, to be seen, and to converse. No refreshments 
are offered now, though it has been done in years 
past. The crowd is too great, and there are, on 
account of the perfect freedom of access, too often 
forward and barefaced individuals intruding. They 
say that silver spoons and other things very often 
used to find their way into wrong places. So they 
have abolished the former system of liberal hospi- 
tality. And I think they are quite right. Why 



should eating and drinking always be considered 
as a constituent part of every amusement ? 

Thus there was not much to be done on the part 
of the host. The President constantly remained in 
the reception-room, cordially shaking hands with 
every one that came in, and having a kind word to 
say to each. In the next room I saw the President's 
daughter, a beautiful and very amiable lady, accom- 
panied by her husband, Col. Bliss. Persons were 
introduced to them successively, and conversed with 
them a shorter or a longer time. The President's 
wife was not present ; they say she does not like 
this trouble, and never appears on such occasions. 

Now at last, after I had been for some time 
looking and walking about among the multitude 
who were promenading in the saloon and in the 
corridor, and had conversed occasionally with vari- 
ous individuals. Heft the house without waiting for 
the end of the " re-union." I hastened to reach my 
hotel in order to enjoy a sweet repose after the fa- 
tigue of a long and well spent day, and to strength- 
en myself in anticipation of another day which was 
to bring many new and interesting scenes. I hard- 
ly like to mention, and much le^s will I attempt to 
describe, the feelings which the things I had heard 
and seen, raised in my bosom. You may know 
they were, in part, pleasant and elevating, when I 



168 



regarded the near, surrounding reality; and most 
melancholy, when I thought of the poor fatherland, 
of what it promised to be in '48, and what it has be- 
come, and what it will be, who knows for how long 
a time ! 



THIRD LEAF. 

A LECTURE, 

DELIVERED IN BOSTON, SEPTEMBER 27, 1854. 



11 



, OBSERVATIONS 

ABOUT TEACHING AND STUDYING THE GERMAN AND 
OTHER LANGUAGES. 



Ladies and Gentlemen : 

I thank you for giving me, by your presence, an 
opportunity of addressing you ; and my thanks are 
the more sincere, because I have been longing for 
this opportunity with an uncommon degree of 
solicitude. I need not conceal my motives, for 
even without my avowing them, you would know 
what feelings and desires were actuating me, when 
I resolved to appear before you under the present 
circumstances. You certainly will not believe, for 
a moment, that I am standing here before you 
with the conviction that I am about to reveal 
important truths, on the knowledge of which the 
welfare of mankind might depend ; nor will you 
believe that I, without thinking of myself, have 
wished to address you, only for the purpose of 
affording you some pleasure, or an occasion to 
make some useful reflections. 



172 A LECTURE. 

There has appeared upon the earth only one 
person who never thought of promoting his own 
worldly interests ; whose life was dedicated to the 
eternal welfare of humanity, and whose death was 
the seal upon his divine life, — and he is therefore 
called the Son of God. There has been only one 
man upon earth, who was to his country the first 
in war and the first in peace, — and that in the 
singleness of his heart, — and he deserved therefore 
to be called the Father of his country: the world 
has produced but one Washington! There have 
been living but a few, who, like Lycurgus, be- 
stowed a blessing upon their fellow-citizens, and 
who, like him, would have been able to go into 
self-chosen exile, and even have their ashes scat- 
tered on the waters, in order to preserve the people 
from losing the benefits formerly bestowed upon 
them. There are but few that could dare to ex- 
claim like the departed great statesman : " I would 
rather be right, than be President;" and who could 
hope that a whole nation would believe these 
words to be spoken in unsuspected sincerity and 
simplicity of heart. 

No, the generality of men do not soar so high, 
and cannot soar so high. It is true, we must not 
give up all claims to disinterestedness in our 
actions, for to souls that are capable of tender 



A LECTURE. 173 

emotions, this life would be a dreary wilderness, if 
charity were banished from it. But though we 
may perform single actions without thinking of 
our own interests, yet in general we do not and 
we cannot shape the course of our whole life, 
we cannot choose our vocation, without being 
prompted by a care for ourselves. We all have a 
natural and lawful desire to find the best way of 
promoting our own interests, the lowest of which 
is expressed by the common term, " trying to make 
a living." 

However, we need not lament over such a state 
of things, for even thus there is left room enough 
for moral worth and mental elevation. This we 
see plainly, when we take two things into con- 
sideration. First, we can choose our vocation 
upon principles of humanity and morality, that is, 
we can examine not merely which occupation, 
which branch of business would most likely be a 
source of the greatest gain in property, honor and 
other worldly rewards, but we can try to find out, 
for which occupation nature seems to have fitted 
us out most benevolently, and which would be 
most likely to benefit others at the same time that 
it procures us a living. And if we are not inde- 
pendent and wise enough, rightly to choose our 
calling in our youth, then we can do so and alter 



174 A LECTURE. 

our occupation in the years of maturity, at least in 
a country like this, where man, as much as possible, 
is allowed to enjoy his natural rights ; where he is 
not by political and social tyranny forced to plod 
all his life in the way on which he has once started. 

The second consideration I alluded to is, as our 
favorite German poet expresses it, this one : " Life 
is not the greatest good, but the greatest evil 
is — guilt." Therefore, our worth is not entirely 
founded upon the way of making a living which 
we choose. It depends more upon the manner in 
which we carry out our plans, upon the carefulness 
with which we avoid using base and sinful means 
of reaching our aim, and upon the faithfulness and 
assiduity and singleness of heart with which we 
discharge the duties imposed upon us by our 
calling. 

These two considerations are applicable to my 
own case at present. The latter I cannot investi- 
gate now, because it is not a matter to be talked 
of, but one to be acted out. 

In regard to the first point, I wish to make a 
few remarks now, and thus to consider with you, 
whether a person, by choosing to teach the German 
language, enters upon an occupation which is 
beneficial to others besides himself, including, as a 
matter of course, whether the study of the Ger- 



A LECTURE. 175 

man language may be justly recommended to 
Americans. 

To commence teaching anything at all, is not 
always so very meritorious in itself, especially in 
this country. I had not been more than three 
weeks in America, when I again took up my 
former occupation and engaged as a teacher. I 
was then totally ignorant of the way in which 
things relating to instruction were conducted in 
this country, and I was, therefore, very much sur- 
prised by the previous questions, whether I ever 
had taught, and whether I intended to make 
teaching my business. Both, I thought, were very 
queer questions, because I could not comprehend 
that a man should honestly undertake to teach, if 
he had not been educated for and trained as a 
teacher, and if he did not consider teaching to be 
his profession. Very soon, however, I found out 
that, at least in the Southern States, people open 
a boarding-school, or teach in a public or private 
school, when they have failed in everything else. 
Many persons Use teaching as the last anchor, 
which they trust shall preserve their bark from 
being dashed to pieces or from foundering in the 
ocean of life. A great number of young men 
take a situation as tutor, and as private teacher, 
avowedly only for the purpose of making a living 



176 A LECTURE. 

for a feiu years. Without doubt, many make their 
situation as much as possible a sinecure, so that 
they may have time to prepare themselves for a 
profession, the thing which alone induces them to 
seek such a position. 

And every one will grant that it is very natural, 
that young ladies generally should not commence 
teaching with the expectation of continuing it for 
a long time. We must expect they rather wish, 
every one of them, that they soon may be able to 
give a practical demonstration to the conjugation 
which they teach : "Je faime^ tu m^aimes, nous nous 
aimonsJ^ It is very natural that they expect not 
long to be obliged to teach " one and one is two," 
but to show that " one and one is one," as people 
say that two persons united in matrimony are one, 
and as Swedenborg says, that a married couple 
melt in heaven into one angel. 

Teaching, however, is even under such circum- 
stances a very honorable occupation, though not 
near as much, as when a man makes it voluntarily 
the task of his whole life. This observation is 
more applicable to Europe than to this country. 
There a teacher can, much less than here, expect 
to receive in this world the reward due to his 
constant and faithful toiling. In many States 
there, the lot of a public primary teacher is a very 



A LECTURE. 377 

poor one, so much so that I think it was not 
hitting so very far beyond the mark, when a person 
once after a conversation about the doctrine of the 
Brahmins, the migration of the soul, remarked : 
" Well, I like that idea very well indeed, and I 
should wish it to be a reality, provided I could 
make these two conditions, that my soul never 
should enter into a stage-horse or into a school- 
master." 

Under all circumstances, teaching is really in 
many respects somewhat of a hard task, and I 
must confess, there has been hardly a more affect- 
ing sight to me, than to see an old teacher, when 
he, as they do in Germany, celebrates the day, on 
\^hich he looks back upon a space of fifty years, 
during which he has been engaged in teaching. 
When you look on him, as he sits there, on his 
day of jubilee, surrounded by more than one gen- 
eration of friends and pupils ; when you consider, 
how many a storm has passed over those gray 
hairs ; how many a grief may have oppressed that 
heart, so old and yet so warm ; how many a man 
may have been trained by him, not only to be 
smart in his own affairs, but trained to usefulness 
and brought into the way of truth and virtue ; 
then, and never so lively as then, you feel what it 
is to be a teacher, and nothing but a teacher. 



178 A LECTURE. 

However, it is not necessary to magnify this 
office. People are awake to their own interest, 
and especially here in New England, (more than in 
most other countries,) people know what an edu- 
cation is worth, and accordingly they value those 
persons, from whom they receive their instruction. 
As long as those words of the English statesman, 
" The schoolmaster is abroad," — as long as these 
words and their import are assented to, so long 
teachers need not be afraid of not being looked 
upon as one of the most useful and respectable 
classes of society. 

If we now limit our investigation to the teaching 
of languages alone, we meet a remarkable fact. 
All other things that are comprehended in a proper 
course of instruction, have to be taught, because 
they are founded upon nature. History must, of 
course, exist as a science, because the world could 
not be without a history; the earth cannot exist 
without topographical and other divisions and 
properties, and therefore, there must be a science 
of geography ; we must have the science of astron- 
omy, because there is and there must be a system 
in the world ; we must have the art of music, if 
the world of sounds shall be known and enjoyed ; 
and thus I could go on enumerating the other 
branches of instruction. 



A LECTURE. 179 

But now, if we look upon " languages," we 
come to a result quite different. Language is the 
means of communicating our thoughts and feelings 
to one another, and it seems we might reach this 
end just as well, or more easily than now, if all 
human beings were speaking English or some 
other language, and could speak none but that one^ 
We are inclined to think, how delightful it would 
be, if we could travel over the whole earth and not 
meet a single person that did not understand our 
language. "We imagine, how glad many a boy 
would be, if such things as Latin and Greek never 
had been heard of ; as Mrs. Sigourney says : 

** Perchance these idioms and their sequences 
May wear the shadow of the lifted rod. 
And every rule of syntax leave its tears 
For Memory's tablet." 

We can appreciate, how many an immigrant, 
when he lands on the shores of this country, feels 
desolate and forlorn, when he hears people talking all 
about him, and does not know at all what they are 
saying. Indeed there is no impropriety in asking 
the question : " Why are there so many languages 
on the earth? why i^ not a single one sufficient ? " 
We cannot comprehend that the latter should be 
impossible, nay, we cannot even think that it would 



180 A LECTURE. 

seem unnatural to have only one language. Quite 
on the contrary, we find the present state of affairs 
so little natural, that we have not the remotest idea 
of the reason, why it is so, and of the manner, how 
it originated. We cannot describe from experience, 
how any language originates, i)ecause, whenever 
and wherever a nation has appeared in history, 
there it brings with it its language already form- 
ed ; we can trace the development and progress of 
many a language, but the origin of none. The Bible 
explains the way in which the different languages 
originated, by the relation of the building and de- 
struction of Babel. And whether we may be sat- 
isfied with the explanation or not, nobody has yet 
and probably nobody ever will find a more sensible 
explanation, or any explanation at all. 

Now, we cannot hope that we ever shall see peo- 
ple agree, during our lifetime, about making one 
language the universal means of communication. 
Under such circumstances all that we can do, is, 
patiently to put up with the fact, and to believe 
that it is for some good purpose, as it is. We who 
have not penetrated and cannot penetrate into the 
plans of the Supreme Being, we only are not aware 
of this purpose. And we teachers of languages have 
then the consolation of considerinor ourselves not 
as a necessary evil, or as scarecrows for naughty 



A LECTURE. 181 

boys, but we may think that we serve some good 
cause. Necessary we are, as it is now, for there must 
be persons that can speak and write, and therefore 
such that can teach foreign languages ; otherwise 
the nations of the earth could not live and make 
progress as they do and as they must do. But I 
believe the fact that so many different languages 
exist, and the necessity and the inducements to 
study several languages, are, in the system of the 
world and under the direction of Providence, an 
important, though to some extent secretly working 
means, of carrying the human race to that degree 
of perfection which it is capable of, and which it is 
destined to obtain. 

The good effects of studying different languages 
we see in many individual cases. We will not go 
so far as to assert that nobody can be a well educa- 
ted person, or rise high in the community, without 
studying foreign languages. If I am not mis- 
taken. General Washington never had a knowledge 
of any other language but his own ; and there is 
none among us who would not be willing to throw 
away all his knowledge of different languages, if 
he could thus buy the hopes of being a great and 
good man like Washington. Yet, among the gen- 
erality of men we see that the study of languages 
gives a power of penetration, a comprehensiveness 



182 A LECTURE. 

of views, an elegant and lucid, or at least a cogent 
way of expressing one's self, and a certain refine- 
ment of taste, which are not so often found among 
persons who have no knowledge of any language 
but their own. I do not know whether it is desira- 
ble, and whether it will come to pass that every one 
who goes to any school at all, should learn at least 
one language besides his own ; but so much is cer- 
tain that, as long as the world is as it is now, the 
study of some foreign language will be considered 
as a necessary part of a course of instruction which 
aims at more than a primary education. 

The only difficulty is, to decide which languages 
are preferable to others; first, whether one should 
study ancient or modern languages. I can hardly 
mention this as being a controverted point, here at 
present in this country. Practice shows that the 
ancient languages are here esteemed as the first 
in rank, not only among the languages, but even 
among all the branches of education. At the South, 
for instance, many a planter's son is sent to col- 
lege, and there he studies Latin and Greek, and 
almost nothing but Latin and Greek. The book of 
Nature which, after he returns home, will be open 
before him all his life, he has not learned to read, 
and many other books he has not learned to read 
either. His Homer and his Virgil he soon loses 



A LECTURE. 183 

sight of, and what is remaining ? He is a gentle- 
man, and that he might perhaps have been, even if 
he had not studied Latin and Greek. 

In Europe it has been ah'eady for years a contro- 
verted point, whether ancient languages are neces- 
sary in order to give a man a thorough education, 
or whether mathematics, natural sciences (or phys- 
ics) and modern languages, are sufficient to accom- 
plish this end. The latter opinion seems to gain 
there more ground from year to year, and perhaps 
it will find its advocates on this continent too. It 
is true, we are so much accustomed to believe and 
to find that a man has learned Latin, when he 
proves to be a well educated person, that we con- 
nect these two facts as cause and effect, as insepa- 
rable. We dislike, therefore, the idea of discard- 
ing Latin from a plan of studies intended to be 
complete. And certainly there is so much advan- 
tage to be derived from the study of either Latin or 
Greek, that we must wish every boy in a school of 
the higher order might learn at least one of the two. 

However, if a boy could learn only one language 
besides his own, I think it would be quite as judi- 
cious for him to learn a modern one. The princi- 
pal reason, why we study any other language be- 
sides our own is, or ought to be, the simple reason 
that it is not our own, and this advantage all of 



184 A LECTURE. 

them share alike. Besides, the modern languages 
have, practically and theoretically, so many quali- 
ties to recommend them, that these seem quite 
as important as those by which Latin and Greek 
are superior to the former. I mean the systemati- 
cally arranged forms (declensions, conjugations, 
&c.) of the latter, and their unsurpassed specimens 
of a classical style in oratory and writing. 

However, though there be reasons for doubting 
whether a boy ought to study an ancient or a mod- 
ern language, yet in regard to the other sex it is my 
opinion that the ancient languages ought to be dis- 
carded altogether. It is true the study of Latin is 
or, at least can be useful for ladies too, especially 
for those who speak nothing but English, but there 
are many other things that are more useful. I do not 
agree with those who think one lady to be better 
educated and more accomplished than another, 
merely because she has studied Latin. No, let 
a lady study a modern language ; let her enjoy 
the fragrant blossoms and the delicious fruit of a 
living, cheerfully growing tree ; but let her not soil 
her fingers by handling the withered foliage of a 
tree that died more than a thousand years ago. In 
Germany it is a thing scarcely heard of that a lady 
studies Latin, and yet in that country, I believe. 



A LECTURE. 



185 



there are comparatively just as many good wives 
and mothers, as in any other country in the world. 

When we speak of modern languages, we gen- 
erally mean not to include more than the five 
principal ones that are spoken on this and on the 
other continent, viz., the English, Spanish, French, 
German and Italian, and it remains to be con- 
sidered -which of the four latter ones Americans 
ought to study in preference to the other three. 
We might perhaps form our opinion about this 
very soon, if we were to follow the Emperor 
Charles V., who said that the Spanish language 
ought to be used in addressing God, the Italian 
with our lady friend, the French with our male 
friend, the German with the soldiers, the English 
with the geese, the Hungarian with the horses, and 
the Bohemian with the devil. But we had better 
try to form our own opinion, and to investigate the 
matter under different and various aspects. 

If we take only the sound into consideration, 
then we must say that the Italian language stands 
first in rank, especially, as every one knows, in 
singing. Next to it stands the Spanish, which 
would be almost as mellifluous as the Italian, if it 
had not, like the German, the guttural sound of 
jota, and like the English the sound of th. The 
third in order seems to be the French, and the 
12 



186 



A LECTURE. 



fourth the German. The latter contains too often 
the vowels, w, w, and i, which are not easy and 
pleasant to sing, and it shows too often a harsh 
combination of two or more consonants. Schiller 
himself, whose poetry is without doubt as smoothly 
flowing as that of any other German poet, com- 
plains of the language he has to use, as of a harsh 
sounding one. However, it is superior to the 
English, when used in singing. 

I judge so from my own experience. I disliked 
in the beginning very much to sing English songs, 
yet I thought this was from prejudice or at least 
from want of practice. But since I have earnestly 
endeavored to be free from the former, and since I 
cannot now complain of the latter, and as I yet 
have not been able to change my opinion about 
the two idioms ; therefore I think I must continue 
to agree with many others who have the same 
opinion. Nevertheless, we will not go so far as to 
agree with Charles V. about the English language. 
Those of you that remember Mr. Otis, one of your 
great orators, surely are convinced that this lan- 
guage sounds well, when it is spoken well ; and we 
gentlemen are certainly all convinced that English, 
spoken by a beautiful and accomplished lady, is 
very far from sounding disagreeable, that it is good 
enough to converse in with our lady friend. How« 



A LECTURE. ' 187 

ever, in singing, as we asserted, the German lan- 
guage is much preferable to the English, and 
because the former contains undoubtedly the finest 
songs set to music, (exclusive of opera music,) 
therefore it is even in regard to sound worth while 
for Americans to learn German. 

If we acknowledge here the inferiority of the 
German to the three other languages mentioned, 
we can do so without regret, because this is the 
only point in which it is inferior to them. In 
regard to practical usefulness only the French can 
compete with it, because there are but few Italians 
and Spaniards in this country, with whom one 
might enter into social or business connections, 
and because Americans do not travel in great 
numbers in Italy, Spain, South America, and the 
West Indies. People say, one who can speak 
French, can travel all over Europe, being sure 
everywhere to meet persons that understand him, 
and this is not so with the German. This is true, 
but it is also true, that one can travel all over 
Europe without knowing either French or German. 
The English have, with their gold, paved the way 
for Americans, and surely, in every place that is 
much resorted to and is worthy of being much 
resorted to, there one will meet people that under- 
stand English. 



188 A LECTURE. 

Therefore it is only to be decided which of the 
two can afford you more pleasure, when you really 
mix with the people. Paris and Rome, I think, 
are the places that are on the continent most worth 
visiting, but there one can get along with speaking 
English. Next to visiting them, I believe it to be 
the most desirable to travel in Germany, for that 
country abounds in beautiful natural scenery, in 
ancient ruins, in fine specimens of architecture, and 
in treasures in every science and art. The Ger- 
mans, in the cities as well as in the country, are a 
people of much originality of character, and there- 
fore are well worth being seen and observed in 
their own home. All such things, now, cannot be 
fully enjoyed by one who does not understand the 
language of the country he is travelling in, and 
I am sure, that one would enjoy more applying 
his knowledge of German on such an occasion, 
than applying his knowledge of French on a jour- 
ney through France. 

After all, though the number of Americans that 
travel in Europe, is increasing, yet their number is 
small in comparison with those that stay at home. 
The persons, therefore, that learn to speak a foreign 
language, are for the most part more likely to 
make use of it at home than to apply it abroad. 
Now, Louisiana is the only part of this country, 



A LECTURE. 189 

where one may have as much or more occasion to 
speak French than to speak German. In all the 
other parts, the French population is so small 
in comparison with the German, that we need not 
draw a parallel between the two at all. 

After this, Americans may object : " Though we 
have very seldom occasion to speak to Frenchmen, 
and very often to speak to Germans, yet it is not 
necessary that we speak the German language, for 
the better educated Germans very soon learn to 
speak the English language well enough to con- 
verse with us in our own idiom, and with the 
lower classes of them we do not wish to have any- 
thing to do. The mean business of gaining by 
enticing and fleecing the poor helpless immigrant, 
we leave to runners and such kind of people." 
There is much truth in this objection, though on 
the other hand there are a great many instances, 
where it proves to be pleasant and useful, and at 
the same time honorable, to mix with the Germans 
and to converse with them in their native tongue. 

Moreover, one great end, I believe, would be 
accomplished, if Americans would learn more gen- 
erally to make use of the German language, or at 
least to appreciate it. This would be the means 
of inducing the two nations to befriend one another 
more and more, and of amalgamating the people 



190 A LECTURE. 

of different nationalities in this country. And why- 
should the German always be a stranger on this 
kindly soil ? Why should the American insist 
upon extending hospitality to the stranger only, 
and not wish to make him a ivorthy member of his 
own household ? A fusion of the two nationalities 
I think, would be much better. The American has 
some fine traits in his character which the German 
has not, and on the other hand there is something 
desirable in the national character of the Germans, 
which is not so common among the English and 
the Americans. Now if here the good qualities qf 
both were combined, what a compound would that 
give? Certainly would North America then, (if it 
is not already now,) be inhabited by the noblest 
race of men that God's sun has shone upon since 
the creation of the world. 

Let us now turn to another point, in regard to 
which we must compare the German with the 
other modern languages, viz., their Grammar. It is 
sure that a person, if he can help it, should never 
learn a foreign language merely for practical pur- 
poses, for immediate use. In the study of lan- 
guages itself there is hidden such a golden treasure 
of gain for mental cultivation, that it would be a 
pity not to dig for it. ~ Therefore, all the grammars 
copying Ollendorff's system, as good as they may 



A LECTURE. 191 

be for practical purposes, are useless in regard 
to what I just now mentioned ; and in the hands 
of an unskilful or careless teacher they are, in 
regard to mental cultivation, worse than useless, 
they are a nuisance. If we would study a foreign 
language to any advantage for our mind, then we 
must constantly compare it with our own idiom, 
and reduce it to universal grammar or logic. By 
the former we elucidate all matters of our own 
language, which we otherwise are very apt only to 
know by rote and not at all rationally. By the 
latter we make the head clearer, and that is, after 
all, the great point to which all instruction ought to 
tend. 

Now, the German grammar is better calculated 
than that of any other modern language, to reach 
these two ends. The German etymology and syn- 
tax contain a great many niceties which are well 
and clearly arranged in a system, and are well 
calculated to teach a person the rudiments of 
grammar, especially when his own grammar is so 
plain and simple as the English is. And in regard 
to the last point there is nothing to be compared 
with the German grammar, not even the Latin or 
the Greek. German grammarians have reduced 
their language into such a beautiful system of 
practical logic, that the result of their labor stands, 



192 A LECTURE. 

in merit, high above that of the grammarians of 
all other nations. Smith's English Grammar pro- 
fesses to be a fruit of that tree, but it is not. 
There are two English grammars, those of Mr. 
Green and of Mr. Scheib, which really have applied 
to English grammar the researches of those Ger- 
man philosophers, and it is to be hoped that their 
labors will be appreciated and carried out further. 
But even when Americans study their own lan- 
guage upon such principles, yet the study of the 
German grammar will, in the hands of a skilful 
teacher, remain an invaluable means of developing 
the mental faculties of the student. 

The advantage just now spoken of, however, 
cannot be so easily understood and appreciated as 
that one, on account of which foreign languages 
on the whole generally are studied, viz., the access 
to a wider field in literature. Some persons may 
think that it is not necessary to study any foreign 
language at all for this reason, because the best 
works are always translated into English, and may 
therefore be studied without taking the trouble of 
learning to read them in the original. It is cer- 
tainly well that these translations are published ; 
it benefits those who cannot learn any language 
but their own, and those who are satisfied with 
skimming on the surface. But a mind which is 



A LECTURE. 193 

bent upon something more solid and more worthy 
of its divine origin, is not satisfied with this ; it 
knows that there is quite a difference between 
reading the original and reading a translation. 

Some persons say that Schlegel's translation of 
Shakspeare is better than the original ; but they 
should say, it is " Shakspeare more in unison with 
our taste and modern civilization." It is not 
Shakspeare himself, with all the peculiarities of his 
century, of his country, and of his individuality. 
Every one of us has observed that a proverb or any 
other sentence is much more impressive in the 
original language, than when translated into an- 
other one. Let us, for instance, suppose we relate 
to an audience, that Cato used to add these words 
to every speech he made in the Roman senate : 
" Moreover, it is my opinion, Carthage must be 
destroyed." If a Latin scholar were present, would 
he not find that this sounded to him not half as 
impressive, as if we had said : " Ceteriim censeo 
Carthagineni esse delendam " ? 

But it is not only this charm which is invariably 
connected with the consciousness of understanding 
a foreign language, that recommends its study ; it 
is also the real usefulness. The books that are 
translated, are mostly such as are only of general 
interest, and as soon as we wish to read a foreign 



194 A LECTURE. 

book about some particular subject, we find that 
there is no translation of it to be had. In this 
respect the German language pays the student for 
his trouble of learning it, more amply than any 
other, for the German literature is so extremely 
rich, that only the English can compete with it. 
It is difficult to tell which of the two is the richest. 
I think, in a few departments the English is superior 
to the German, but the latter is, in several fields, 
much more extensively and successfully cultivated 
than the former. 

By judging of the modern languages in this 
way, I believe we do no injustice to the Italians 
and Spaniards, for though the former may be proud 
of Dante and Ariosto, the latter of Calderon, Cer- 
vantes and others, yet their literature is too limited, 
especially in regard to sciences. The French lan- 
guage also, I hope, is not slighted by the opinion I 
have advanced; it seems to be generally acknow- 
ledged that the French poets do not come up to 
Shakspeare, Calderon, Goethe, and Schiller, and 
that the French scientific works are not so numer- 
ous and so various, and, with a few exceptions, not 
so valuable as the English and German. 

Take what science you will. Theology, Meta- 
physics, Natural History, Geography, Chemistry, 
History, Astronomy ; take what art you will, Music, 



A LECTURE. 195 

Painting, Sculpture, Architecture, — in everyone of 
them the Germans can point out some of their 
countrymen that are to be classed among the 
noblest geniuses, practically in their profession, and 
theoretically as authors. It would take too much 
time to mention names, but I think it would also 
be superfluous, because a great many of them are 
known to Americans. It is not of late, that 
the literary world of America, England, and Ger- 
many, have extended to each other the hand of 
friendship. Schlegel, and his nation with him have 
been just, and have acknowledged Shakspeare to 
be the greatest poet that ever lived ; and thus you 
are willing, for instance, to acknowledge that Alex- 
ander von Humboldt is, in his particular sphere, 
the greatest man the world has produced. I am 
convinced that a German can do nothing better 
than choose the English language, when he will 
study a foreign idiom for the sake of its litera- 
ture, and that likewise the English and Amer- 
icans ought to prefer the German to all other 
foreign languages. 

My principal reason for believing the latter, I 
have not yet expressed. It is this ; There is one 
trait in the German character which is peculiar to 
that nation, yea, even so peculiar that other nations 
have not a word in their language which signifies 



196 A LECTURE. 

and expresses it fully. We call it Gemuth, and 
that is in English not exactly mind, nor soul, nor 
heart, nor feeling, nor sentiment ; it is Gemuth, and 
nothing else. It is, I think, one of the most beauti- 
ful traits in the character of man ; it imprints upon 
him a tinge of childlike simplicity; it gives him 
depth of feeling; it gives him a yielding affa- 
bility that enables him with equanimity to en- 
dure the hard dealings of his fellow-creatures 
and of fate ; it endows him with the capacity 
of living happily in an ideal world. And this 
national peculiarity is imprinted upon our litera- 
ture; this peculiarity is the reason why so many 
German authors seem to move you to such a 
degree, as no writer in any other language does. 
It is the reason why some German books cannot 
easily be translated into English. I happened a 
few days ago to peruse a translation of Jean Paul 
Richter's Flower, Fruit, and Thorn Pieces, and was 
astonished to find such a difference between the 
English version and the original, though the trans- 
lation, by itself, was not a bad one. 

However, instead of expatiating upon this point, 
I think I had better give an example, and thus 
show by practical demonstration, what argument 
cannot elucidate so well. I wish, therefore, to read 



A LECTURE. 



197 



to you a part of a little German story* which I 
have lately translated. If you are pleased with it, 
it will prove two things : first, that it is really so 
beautiful, that it is like a fine piece of music which 
you appreciate, though it be played upon a poor 
instrument and by unskilful hands. And, second, 
it will prove that the susceptibility of appreciating 
such a kind of writing is not limited to th6 Ger- 
mans, but that in your heart, as well as in every 
other human breast, there are strings which rever- 
berate gently, and tune the soul to harmony and 
delight, as soon as a skilful player touches them. 

* What the Woods talk about. 



DEC 31 1900 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

015 863 393 



